“I’ll…I’ll try, I guess.”
“He loves quick and hard, that boy. The other one, the mean one you’ve been seeing? He’s trouble, he is. Best make your move quick, or you won’t make it a’tall.” Séan nodded sagely, sipped his drink, patting Miriam on the knee. Miriam’s head was spinning. He seemed to know exactly what was going on. Had Jack talked to him?
Jack returned with two bottles of Corona, wedges of lime stuffed into the tops, as well as a bag of tortilla chips and a bowl of salsa. “Ah, you met Gramps, I see. You aren’t scaring her, are you, Gramps?” Séan moved over and Jack sat between them, handing Miriam one of the bottles.
“Oh, no. We just chatted a wee bit. Didn’t tell her none of your secrets.”
“I don’t have any secrets, Gramps. Don’t be weird.”
“Everyone’s got secrets, boy-o.” Séan glanced sideways at Miriam as he said this, winking at her. “Yours are just more boring than most.”
Jack laughed, crunching a chip. “Oh, yeah? So what’s an interesting secret, then?”
Séan pulled a cigar from his shirt pocket, clipped it and lit it, puffed on it. At length he answered. “I’ll tell you a secret, Jackie. One of my very own. Just ’cause you’re my favorite grandson, and this here Miriam of yours seems a right corker.” Miriam didn’t know what a corker was, or whether it was good thing or not, but she didn’t interrupt.
“This goes back, oh, to when I was sixteen or so. Before the war, this was. Me and my two best mates were off to the river, fishin’ on a Sunday mornin’. Mass was over, and we had nothin’ to do but laze about all the day, and that’s what we did. Well, on about noon come these two girls, strollin’ down the road pretty as you please. They sees us, me and my mates, and they come over to us and they ask us what we’re doin’. Well, we thought it were fairly obvious what we was doin’, so I says, ‘We’re fishin’ ain’t we?’ and the prettier of the two, ’cause you know whenever there’s two girls as friends, there’s always one who’s the prettier, I dunno why, but there it is. Anyway, the prettier of the two lasses says to me, she says, ‘Well, I’ve got a dare for one of you, if you’re brave enough.’
“This was a serious thing, you know. You don’t never back down from a dare, most especially at sixteen you don’t. So I puffed up me chest and said, ‘I’ll take your dare,’ and threw my pole to my mate Bill. The girl takes me by the hand and starts pullin’ me back up the road, away from my mates and her friend and the fish, and I says, ‘What’s the dare, then? Where’re we goin’?’, and the girl, she don’t answer, just yanks me into a run. I can’t back down, can I? So I run with her, and she takes me right over the hill and down the other side and around a corner so we’re alone as can be, and she comes to a stop behind a bush, and she says, ‘Are you sure you want to take the dare? No backin’ out if you promise now.’
“And I tell her of course I’ll do it, even though I got no idea what the silly girl has in mind. So she pushes me down to the ground and starts tuggin’ at me pants, and I’m wonderin’ if the girl has gone and lost her silly damn mind. I say so, too, I ask her, ‘What the bloody hell are you doin’, girl?’ And she just says, ‘Well, I took a dare from Emily that I wouldn’t get married still a virgin, didn’t I? And I’m gettin’ married tomorrow, so I can’t stay a virgin.’ And with that, the girl, whose name I didn’t know, who I’d never met, why, this girl pulls up her dress and shows me her bubbies, and away we go. And it were my first time, that was, right there in the grass behind a bush, with a girl I ain’t never met in my life. And you know what? I still don’t know her name, to this very day. I saw her next day, ridin’ in a wagon with a strapping young lad, and she were dressed all in white with flowers and the whole bit, just married. She passed right by me on that wagon, sittin’ next to her brand-new husband, and she smiles at me, nods, as if we had only spoken in the pub or somethin’. Damnedest thing ever, that was.”
Jack was coughing, having aspirated his beer. “Gramps! You can’t go around tellin’ stories like that!”
“Why ever not, Jackie? It’s all true, every word, and don’t no one know that that’s livin. ’Specially not your grandmother, and I’ll thank you not to repeat it. She’d skin me alive if she knew, though it happened ’fore I ever met her.”
“Gramps,” Jack said, “that never happened, did it?”
“Why, of course it did! Would I lie about that?” Séan grinned, and Miriam saw a glint of roguish humor in his eyes.
“Gramps, you tell the biggest fish stories of anyone I know.”
“This ain’t a fish story. You need more details, to prove it? The girl, she had red hair, all braided up, and she wore a blue gingham dress, with black shoes. And she had a big old freckle, right near her nose, and another one on her ribs, just below her great, big—”
“Gramps! Okay. I believe you.”
“She did have the biggest, roundest bubbies I ever saw, though,” Séan muttered into his cup. Miriam actually laughed out loud at that. Jack just shook his head and finished his beer, then stood up to get another.
When he was gone, Miriam asked, “Was that story really true, Séan?”
Séan nodded. “Oh, aye, mostly. I did know her, though. Kate O’Hara, her name was. And we’d been flirtin’ all summer. I’d been tryin’ to get up the nerve just to kiss her for weeks. But I really was fishin’ with my mates on a Sunday after mornin’ mass, and she came up and took my pole from me and dragged me off and we really did…you know…without so much as her sayin’ nary a word. I guess she got tired of me hemmin’ and hawin’ about it. It was a dare, that’s true enough, and she did get married the next day, as I said.”
Miriam heard Jack just inside the kitchen, and it sounded as if he was angry about something, his voice raised. Jack threw the screen door open and stormed out, followed by a younger man who looked enough like Jack that she assumed it was his brother. He was an inch or two shorter than Jack, but wider and more muscular, wearing a white tank top and black jeans, his massive arms covered in tattoos. “I said I don’t want to talk about it,” Jack was saying. “There’s nothing to discuss, okay? Just let it go, Jimmy.”
“You’ve never let me explain, though,” Jimmy yelled. “She came on to me! She was throwin’ herself at me—what was I supposed to do?” They were now out in the middle of the yard, standing face to face. Jack pushed Jimmy, hard.
“You were supposed to say NO! You were NOT supposed to sleep with my fiancée!” Jack was furious, the veins in his neck standing out, the muscles in his arms corded and bulging, fists clenched.
Jimmy shoved Jack back, shouting, “Well, I did, didn’t I? She was a slut! She was sleepin’ around on you behind your back the whole time you were with her. You were just too damn stupid to see it. She slept with your friend Brian, too. Did you know that? And I slept with her again, after you broke up. The day you dumped her, she came back here, and I fucked her in my car.”
Jimmy was poking Jack in the chest, spitting his words, goading Jack, who half-turned away, rubbing his forehead. Then he whirled around and hit Jimmy in the jaw. He struck so fast Miriam wasn’t even sure what had happened until Jimmy stumbled backward, staring at Jack with anger in his eyes. Getting to his feet, he then bull-rushed Jack, swinging both fists. Jack took one to the gut, but the other missed, and then Jack was dancing away, Jimmy following, head down between his shoulders, fists low, bouncing on his heels. Miriam stood up to stop it, but Séan pulled her back to the swing.
“Nah, let ’em go, lass. They’re Irish boys—that’s how they solve things. And those two have had this comin’ for a while now. Best for them to get it out rather than stay angry.”
“So no one’s going stop it?” Miriam was horrified.
Séan shook his head, waving a hand at the fighting brothers. A crowd had formed around them, cheering them on. “It ain’t a family party without a scrap, is it? Oh, I know you’re worried for your boy. You can relax, girlie. Jackie can take care of himself. I know Jimmy is a rough-lookin
’ sort, and he is, right enough. He fights in those, what do you call it, cage matches. Disgraceful, if you ask me, fightin’ for money like that, tearin’ apart people you don’t know, just for show. But Jackie, now, he’s a canny scrapper, he is. Don’t look it, but he is. Jimmy loves the fight. He’s got the warrior in him. Jack ain’t that way—he only fights if he has to, and he fights to get it over with.
“Watch him now. See how he don’t let Jimmy in close? He’s seen Jim fight, he knows he can’t go in close. Jimmy will tear him like paper if he lets him get his arms on him, but Jackie’s got the longer reach, so he stays back, fights smart. THERE! Get him! Use your LEFT, Jackie!” Séan was standing up and shouting now, and Miriam looked from Séan to the crowd, and back, not quite understanding. Jack was bleeding from his mouth and nose, but he didn’t seem much slowed, and Jim was shaking his head like a confused bear, not bouncing on his toes as much as he had been at first. Jimmy charged again, and this time Jack swiveled out of the way and hit him on the cheekbone with a hard right, and Jimmy went down. Jack slumped back against the fence, and Miriam rushed over to him, a napkin in her hand, dabbing at his face. Jack stripped off his shirt, pressing a palm to his ribs. Miriam couldn’t help admiring his physique, shining with sweat and still heaving from exertion.
“What the hell was that, Jack?” she demanded.
Jack shook his head, too winded to speak. He leaned over and held a hand out for Jim, who took it and let Jack pull him upright. The brothers exchanged a glance, and Miriam could tell it was fraught with unspoken meaning, though she couldn’t tell what it meant. Jimmy nodded, dabbing at his lips with his wrist, and then he went in the house.
When he had caught his breath, Jack said, “That’s just my asshole brother being an asshole. It’s an old story that’s not worth telling. It happened a long time ago, and now it’s over.”
“But you had to fight him over it?” Miriam asked.
“Well, yeah. He’d have hit me, so I had to hit him first.” Jack said this as if it were obvious, like two plus two equals four. Miriam pressed the napkin to his nose, standing closer to him than she should if they were supposed to be just friends.
“Are you okay?”
Jack nodded, straightening. He hissed, though, and put his palm back to his ribs. “I think he bruised one of my ribs, but I’ll be fine.” Miriam watched him trying to ignore the pain, and she felt the coil of power in her belly unfurl, a feeling that was becoming familiar. The energy rushed through her body to her palm, and she pressed her hand against Jack’s side. She felt the heat buzz from her hand to his ribs, felt the break under her palm knit back together, the bruise fading and vanishing. His nose stopped bleeding, and his split lip healed. Jack looked from Miriam to his side, pressed a finger to his nose and lip, and looked back to Miriam. His eyes held a thousand questions, and Miriam didn’t have answers for any of them.
“I don’t know,” she whispered to him, although he hadn’t said a word.
Walking back into the house, Jack finally asked a question, although it wasn’t the one she had been expecting: “Did Gramps say anything…odd to you? Anything that…didn’t make any sense at all, but yet made perfect sense?”
“Actually, he did. He came over and sat down next to me, and said I didn’t have to hide the truth. He told me you love quick and hard, and that the mean one—which is Ben, obviously—was trouble, and that I should make my move soon or I wouldn’t be able to.” She turned and caught Jack’s arm, searching his eyes. “You didn’t say anything to him?”
Jack sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Of course not. Gramps…sometimes he just knows stuff. He calls it ‘the second sight,’ and don’t ask me what that means. Some old Irish legend, I think. But he really does know things that he shouldn’t be able to know. He had the look on his face that he gets when he’s had the second sight. However he knew it, what he said was right. You need to do something soon, or it’ll just get worse.”
Miriam knew it, too, but she wasn’t sure what she could do. Thinking about it only made her realize even more how completely trapped she was, and how much she was risking just by being at this party with Jack. He must have picked up on her thoughts, because he introduced her briefly to his parents and the rest of his family, and then took her home.
He was as good as his word, dropping her off at her apartment and giving her an awkward goodbye hug, brushing the side of her face with his hand. “Be careful, Miriam,” he said.
Miriam gave him a long, sad look. “You, too.”
Chapter 8
Miriam
One week earlier
Jack showed up at her door a little before noon on a Saturday a week after the party.
Miriam had just woken up, having closed the night before, so she was wearing nothing but an extra-large Red Wings T-shirt and panties.
“Do you work tonight?” he asked, looking her up and down with an admiring grin.
“Jack! What—what are you doing here?” She pulled the edge of the shirt down, but no matter how she tugged it, the shirt still barely covered her thighs.
He held up two tickets. “I’ve got a pair of tickets to tonight’s Tigers game. Thought maybe you’d like to go with me.”
“Tigers?”
“Yeah, like, baseball?”
Miriam slapped his arm. “I know who the Tigers are.”
“Have you ever been to a game? It’s a lot of fun.”
“I haven’t, actually, and I’m off today. When is it?”
“The game starts at four. I thought we could grab some lunch in Greektown before the game.” Jack came in and hopped up on the kitchen counter, peeling his jacket off and setting it beside him. Miriam fought the urge to run her hands over his chest, his toned physique visible through his thin, black, skintight Led Zeppelin shirt.
“That sounds fun. You’ll have to wait while I get ready, though.”
“Okay.” He hopped down and plopped himself on her couch, grabbing the remote for her little TV.
Miriam showered quickly, trying not to think about Jack sitting just a few feet away, trying not to hope that he’d let himself into the bathroom. He didn’t, and she moved quickly from the bathroom to the bedroom, a towel wrapped loosely around her torso. She felt Jack’s eyes on her for the split second she was visible in between the two rooms, and wondered if he’d been waiting for that one glimpse.
While Jack watched TV, Miriam got ready, choosing her outfit carefully and taking time with her makeup. She hadn’t seen or heard from Ben for almost a week, which was worrying her, making her nervous. She’d tried to keep herself busy with work, and she’d made up her mind to enjoy this day off. She’d texted with Jack a few times, but she hadn’t seen him since the party.
Pretending she didn’t miss him was exhausting.
Jack had his Jeep again, and this time he had removed the canvas top. With the radio blaring, they pulled out of the parking lot and headed to Comerica Park. They didn’t talk much on the drive over, and Miriam didn’t mind the silence between them. In fact, she found it comforting and refreshing to be with someone and not have to talk. With the wind blowing between them, tangling her hair, Miriam was as close to being happy as she’d ever felt. Jack’s hand rested on the gearshift, flecks of paint on the backs of his knuckles, grease permanently caked into the creases, a couple of knuckles still split from his fight with his brother. Miriam slipped her hand in his, and twined their fingers together, feeling the electric brush of excitement thrill through her, even at so innocent a touch.
He took her to the New Parthenon, where they had saganaki and gyros, and shared a pitcher of beer.
“Do you drink much, Jack?” The question just popped out. Miriam hadn’t even been aware she was thinking it, but once it was out, she was glad she’d asked.
Jack seemed unsurprised. “No, not really. When I’m out with friends, I’ll have a few beers, or maybe with Doyle after work sometimes.” He leaned forward and took her hands in his. “Listen, Miriam. I want y
ou to understand how much I’m not him. Okay? If you want to ask me something, just ask. I won’t be offended.”
“It’s not like I’m comparing the two of you—”
“You should, Miriam.” He rubbed her knuckles with his thumbs. “Seriously. Compare me to him. I don’t want to be anything like him. At all. If there’s ever even the slightest similarity between me and him, you should drop me like a bad habit, okay?” He was exuding intensity, his eyes fixed on her.
“You’re nothing like him, Jack. I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re so different from him, from anyone I’ve ever dated…. It’s kind of scary, honestly, how different you are.”
“Scary? What do you mean?” Jack asked.
“I don’t know…it’s—I’m used to one kind of thing, you know?” Miriam said. “All the guys I’ve dated have been similar—”
“Assholes?” Jack interjected around a swig of beer.
“Yeah, I guess so. I don’t know why, but I just seem to attract the assholes.”
“Well, I’m not an asshole, and you attracted me,” Jack said with a smirk. “But seriously, though, I don’t think it’s a matter of you attracting them so much as you choosing them. You don’t think you’re worth a real man, a good man.”
Miriam felt kind of insulted by that. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Jack raised his hands, palms out, in a pacifying gesture. “No, listen to me. I have this cousin, Bridget. Her dad, my uncle, he’s an alcoholic. He used to beat Bridget and her mom. Called her all sortsa names, kicked her out of the house when she was eighteen.
“She always ended up dating these guys that were just…god, assholes—” He said the word like it was the ultimate epithet, the worst thing he could think of calling them. “I mean, real douchebags. They treated her like I wouldn’t treat a dog. Hit her, called her names, just like Uncle Danny had. One even pimped her out to his friend, and she just went along with it, god knows why.
Jack and Djinn Page 7
