I stood, helping her to her feet. We proceeded to reclothe ourselves.
“Killian. I have something to tell you.”
“Aye?”
She opened the door. “Come on. You need to open your present.”
A present for me? What could she have in that tiny box? “That’s for me? But I thought ya had something to tell me?”
She tugged on my sleeve. “After you open your present.”
Whatever it was, she was bloody excited about it. She fairly glowed. When we reached the bar, she gave the package to me. It was feather light. I shook it, and it made an odd sound, like rice in a jar.
She laughed, her eyes dancing even in the dim light. “I knew you’d do that.”
I cocked my head. “What are ya up to?”
She bounced, putting her hands under mine and pushing them up. “Open it! Open it!”
“Easy, woman. Don’t get your knickers in a bunch.” It wasn’t wrapped, simply tied with red ribbon. I stared into her face and pulled the string. Being a bit of a stinker, I took my sweet time cracking open the lid and reaching into the tissue paper. I drew out a rattle.
Is this supposed to mean something? Is it an American thing?
She looked like she was about ready to burst. I stared at the gift again, and it hit me.
She couldn’t be….
“You’re not…prego?”
She nodded energetically. “I am.”
I was flooded with joy. “We…you…we’re having a wee one?”
She couldn’t take it any longer and jumped into my arms. “Yeah!”
I was as thick as a ditch not to catch on.
A baby. We’re having a baby.
“That’s brilliant!” I suddenly remembered our activities in the office. I put a hand on her shoulder and touched her belly with my other. “We didn’t…like…hurt it, did we?”
She let on she was being serious. “Honey. You’re well-endowed, but you ain’t that well-endowed. The baby’s only the size of a grape or something.”
I drew her close again. “Oh, Jo. I’m so happy.”
She teared up. “Me, too.”
* * *
A week later, at her base sonogram, they discovered stage 3C ovarian cancer. Jo had a thirty-nine percent chance of survival. Two weeks later she lost the baby, the only thing giving her hope, though she never complained and fought the good fight to the end.
It amazed me how fresh the two wounds were. How the devastation could go on, and on, and on. Swallow you anew each day.
I blinked back the tears blurring my vision. Movement captured my gaze, and it shifted to fall on Bridey. She was sitting in the sand this time, staring out over the frothing waves, her knees drawn up to her chin. When the family passed her, she lifted her head and exchanged some pleasantry with them. But, after they made off a couple yards, she lowered her chin to rest it on her knees. Mayhaps Flynn, that blackguard, finally worked up the bollocks to tell her he was an unfaithful shite. Chances were, like me, she’d had her own private memory flick, like the films we saw at the pictures, but more haunting. She turned suddenly and lifted her arm to shield her eyes as she looked my way. She waved, and I returned the wave, feeling like a peeper, invading her privacy. I spun and walked away.
Being a Friday night, Murphey’s was heaving. I worked through one rush after another and hardly got a chance to talk to Bridey. Flynn hadn’t shown his ugly puss either. It was an hour from closing before things slowed enough to clean up the wreckage from earlier and take a breath. I was hauling a bus tub of dirties to the kitchen and saw Bridey crouched by the open back door.
“Come on now, sweet puss. Don’t ya want any fish?”
Handing the tub to Tag, I queried, “What’s on with her?”
“Ack. She’s trying to coax some miserable stray into my kitchen.”
I went and stood behind her, searching through the rain for the animal she was sweet-talking. “Where is the thing?”
She rose. “Oh, she’s crawled under the dumpster, poor craiter. It’s lashing out there, and she’s wet through and through.”
I raised an eyebrow. “She? You’re certain it’s a she?”
She shrugged. “Well, we ain’t been properly introduced, but I’ve a notion she’s a female.”
“Umm. She carrying shopping bags, is she?”
She swatted me. A flash of color streaked through the murk outside. “Oh, there she is.” Bridey stepped out into the rain. “Come on, darling. Ya’ve nothing to be shook about.”
“You’ll be sopping,” I yelled after her, vying with the sounds of the rain hitting trash bags and tin bins, and drumming on the plastic roof of the dumpster. Should I help her?
“Oh, that’s a good gal. Good kitty. Ya poor thing.” She came back into the light holding the mangiest beast of a cat I’d ever seen. Its long gray hair drooped in places, stuck out in others. She pet its fur, holding it up to rub her cheek against its face. Raindrops sparkled in Bridey’s hair like fairy balls, and her cheeks were rosy, whether if from the heat of the kitchen, or the cold and rain bucketing down outside, it was hard to tell. But the contrast between her dark hair and creamy skin made her seem like a china doll. “Isn’t she beautiful?”
She certainly is. Stunning.
“Beautiful?” Tag put in. “That thing looks like a giant, wet dust bunny.”
“Oh, no. No, she doesn’t.” She turned the cat so they were face-to-face. “Some people can’t appreciate as fine a cat as yourself, Miss Josephine.”
I went cold and stiff all at once, like I was hit by a villain’s freeze gun from the pictures. And I must have shown it, too, because when Bridey glanced over, her eyes became wide with concern.
“What’s wrong?” She hesitated. “Ya don’t like Josephine or something?”
I was saved from answering by Tag’s hooting. “Well, for one thing, I’m not sure the lad will appreciate it. Ya have yourself a tomcat there, Miss Bridget.”
“What?” She whirled the craiter around to see what Tag so quickly noted.
He chuckled. “He has certain parts that are lacking on a female feline.”
“Oh, well then.” Her face fell. She continued to cuddle her vagrant kitty. Seconds later, a smile broke out. “She’s purring!” She waved a hand, anticipating Tag’s correction. “He’s purring. He’s purring. Aren’t ya, Mr. Joe?”
At this point, Paddy came marching down the hall with a bus tub. “Ah-ah-ah, Miss Bridey. That is not going to happen. Not on your Nelly, I say. Not. On. Your. Nelly!”
She winked at me and sidled up to him. “Oh, but Paddy. See what a good kitty he is. And he was getting half-drowned out there.”
“That’s his business, not mine.”
“But look at him.”
He glanced at the cat, then returned his attention to the dishes. “That’s one mangy puss, ya got there, Bridey.”
“But Paddy, Joe here would take care of all of your mice problems.”
Paddy shifted his gaze to Tag. “We have mice problems?”
“Nah.”
Bridey leaned around Paddy’s back and gave Tag a stare that would freeze a cup o’ coffee. “Traitor.” She picked up where she left off without missing a beat. “Well, if we have no mice, it’s only because this fella here has scared ’em off.”
Paddy looked at her sideways. “You’re a brick short of a full load, ya know that?”
“I do. See his wittle paw socks.” She took his white feet and circled them like the craiter was riding a bike. ”And can ya hear him purring?”
Clicking his teeth, Paddy took another quick glimpse. “I’m putting the kibosh on this right now. This won’t be going the way it did with the fish ya brought in.”
“She found a stray fish?” I interjected.
“She did,” Tag answered.
At the same time she confirmed, “I did.” She spoke over her shoulder. “It’s a long story.” She turned toward Paddy, then half round again to add, “He was in the bottom of a boat.
Poor thang.”
Paddy frowned. “And ya remember how ya cried when he died?”
“But Prince was puny from the start. Joe here is hardy.”
Paddy raised an eyebrow.
She looked at the animal again. “Sure, he’s a mite skinny.”
Tag grunted. “He’s a sniper’s nightmare if ever there was one.”
Again, Bridey leaned back and said through gritted teeth. “You’re not helping.”
He put his hands up defensively and muttered, “Aye. Have it your way.”
“And ya know Deirdre will love him.”
He chortled. “Ho, ho, ho. There’s no doubt there. Bang on.”
“Please, Paddy.”
Lawd, but she was laying it on thick.
“Don’t ya be using those eyes on me, Miss Bridey.” But he took another gander, and his face softened. “He looks like he’s got his tail stuck in paint.” He touched the white tip. Tag rolled his eyes and turned back to his dishes. Paddy scratched the cat under its chin, and the scruffy thing ate it up, stretching so Paddy could reach more places. He chuckled. Then his gaze connected with Bridey’s, and I knew it was all over. “You’d have to hide him when the inspector came.”
“I will. I will.”
“And I get to name him.”
She swallowed. “Aye.”
He reached for the cat, and she placed it in his hands. “Then this here is Tiger.”
Bridey twisted her head and mouthed, “Tiger?” She rolled her eyes. Then she turned back to Paddy. “Fine name, sure it is.”
Paddy peered at her. “You’re the devil’s child, ya are.”
She stretched onto her toes to give him a peck on the cheek. “Thank ya for letting us keep him.”
And I think the old man actually blushed. “Oh, go on with ya.”
“Well, gents,” she spread her arms out wide and bowed, “I have tables to attend to.” As she passed me, she said under her breath, “My work here is done.”
Tag stared at Paddy balefully.
“What?” He set the cat down. “Oh, like ya wouldn’t do the same thing. You were the one almost blubbering when ya caught her crying over the untimely demise of Prince.”
Tag turned to his dishes. “There weren’t no blubbering.”
Paddy laughed. “But it was close enough.”
“Ahh. Shut your gob.”
I shook my head. The girl had the whole crew wrapped around her finger.
Chapter 5
Killian
When I came out front a few minutes later, Deirdre was already pouring bevvies for Bridey’s order and they were in a chinwag.
“Thing’s got nary a stripe on him, but Paddy calls him Tiger.”
“Old fool,” Deirdre countered.
I dried the glasses I brought fresh from the kitchen and put them away. Bridey crossed the room with her loaded tray, and I watched her weave around the room, seeming to have a sixth sense for when a customer was going to push their chair back in her path. She was a wonder, and indeed, I found myself wondering about her a lot.
As Deirdre passed behind me, I said, “So, ya know about the cat, eh?”
She stopped and drew alongside me. “Oh, aye. She asked me about it before she asked Paddy. I knew she’d move him to her side.”
I smirked. “Are ya kidding?” I looked at Bridey. “She could sweet talk sap from a tree.”
She chuckled. “That she could, my boy. And Paddy’s got a soft spot for her.”
I nodded my head in her direction as I wiped a glass, asking as casually as possible, “Why? What’s her story?”
“Who? Bridey?”
I nodded.
The smile ran away from her face. “Ahh, now. That’s a sad one.”
I waited, hoping she would give out more.
She sighed, gazing across the room at Bridey, too. “Her da was in my class at school. He was a handsome man, but quiet. Didn’t have a good home life, so I heard. Came to school with bruises on him more days than not. People steered dog wide of him. We were all gobsmacked when he found him a lass to marry. The words he spoke in his vows were more than we heard from him in our whole lives.”
She stopped as Bridey drew near, and I was afraid I’d discover no more, but when a table called to Bridey, Deirdre continued in a hushed voice. “Never found out much about his bride ’cause they kept to themselves, for the most part. It lasted long enough for her to bear him a pair of sons and Bridey. She took off when Bridey was a babe and we’ve not seen hide nor hair of her since. Some say she moved to America. She was a mystery, that one. We didn’t know where she came from, nor where she went.”
Paddy came up from behind us. “Who are ya blathering on about, woman?”
“Joseph Donovan.”
Paddy’s gaze zeroed in on Bridey, and his jaw tightened. “A meaner cur I never met. Man deserved everything he got.” They stood in silence for a moment, then Paddy stirred himself. “Where’s that hideous quilt your ma made for us? I found a use for it.”
“Up in Killian’s place in the trunk.”
Paddy looked to me. “Mind if I go get her?”
“No. No. It’s your place. I can’t vouch for how clean it is….”
He tapped my shoulder as he shuffled past. “You met my sons. I’ve seen worse.”
“Ya using it for that cat?” Deirdre called after him.
“Aye. Gonna make him a spot by the fire.”
“Good idea.” She nodded her approval. “Mind ya don’t put it too close.”
He was walking past us on the other side of the bar. “I’m no eejit, woman. I’ll mind the fire.”
“Good.” She took a towel and dried glasses, too. “Now, what was I saying?”
“You spoke of Bridey’s ma running away.”
“Ahh, yes.” She settled into her tale. Like most of us Murphey’s, she could spin a yarn a mile wide, though what she spoke now seemed to be the truth. “Bridey worshipped the man, even though, as she grew up, he would beat her something fierce. Never laid a finger on the boys, mind ya, but Bridey….” She shuddered. “Some say it’s cause she’s the spitting image of her ma.” She shook her head. “She’d come in here sometimes a bloody mess, running away from him. He’d beat her with anything that came to hand. Ripped a lamp out of the socket once to whip her with the cord. But we could never talk her into leaving him. She’d make up a whole catalog of excuses for the man, but there ain’t no excuse for what he done to her.”
“You’re spoofing.”
Deirdre crossed herself. “On my ma’s grave, it’s the God’s honest truth.” She dropped her voice even further. “Once, when she came here after a beating, Paddy was beside himself. He was cursing her da something fierce, and Bridey said it was her fault because she burnt the bastard’s dinner—she was like twelve at the time, a mere chiseler. Paddy lost his mind. I’d never seen him like that before, and I haven’t since, neither. He was effing and blinding and throwing his hands in the air—” Deirdre demonstrated, and I had to duck to get out of the way of her left. “—and Bridey flinched. Now, Paddy would never, never lay a finger on that girl, but Bridey was so used to—” She got choked up, and I patted her arm. “Well, when Paddy saw her shy away from him like that, it broke the man. He fell on his knees, bawling and explaining he would never hurt her. And that,” she tapped my arm, “is why Bridey has his heart.”
I puzzled over this newfound knowledge. “Paddy said her da got what he deserved.”
“Aye, he did.” She glanced beyond my shoulder. “Bridey, my gal, what can I get ya?”
“Just a couple jars of Smithwick’s with two Jameson’s to chase ’em.”
“Ya got it.”
Deirdre went for the ales, so I poured the shots.
Bridey’s gaze shifted from me to Deirdre and back. “And exactly what are the two of ya going on about there?”
Deirdre panicked. “Uhh….”
“My auntie was filling me in on some local history.”
Bridey’s eye
s sparkled with laughter. “Gossip’s more like it.” She gracefully slid her tray off the bar and threw us a teasing look over her shoulder.
“Ya can say that again,” Paddy seconded, passing her as she left. He held a God-awful purple and brown quilt, and he circled the bar with it.
As soon as Bridey was out of earshot, Deirdre started in again. “Her da, ol’ Joe, did a header off that cliff beyont.” She nodded to the rear of the establishment.
I scratched my noodle, vexed by the idea. “But, she said that’s where her husband’s body was dumped.”
“Ugh. It’s true. Couldn’t even die respectably and leave her da’s burial place to himself.”
I lifted my brows. “Not a fan of the fella?”
“Let me tell ya, Bridey’s as smart as a whip, except when it comes to men. She can sure choose ’em.”
“Aye,” Paddy mumbled. He nodded to me. “Ya think that da of hers was a monster, well that Tommy Flatery made him seem like a bleeding altar boy.” He tapped me on the shoulder for emphasis, then moved toward the kitchen.
My eyes widened, and I turned to Deirdre. “He beat her, too?”
“Nah. She coulda stood that better. He only sold her off to his friends.”
I blinked. “What?”
Deirdre nodded. “They passed her around like a frigging after-dinner drink.”
“But…but…she mourns him?”
“Oh, he came around here all flowers and sunshine and courted Bridey until she couldn’t think straight. Then, when he had her on the hook, BAM—” She slammed her hand on the bar. “—he set that bleeding thang and yanked away.”
“I don’t get it. She seems so strong and sure of herself.”
“Aye. That’s our Bridey now. But ya have to remember, this was all when she was young. Her da died when she was sixteen, and Tommy swooped in while she was still shaken from that. She was barely of age when he married her. She didn’t have her head on straight. All she knew about love is it could leave ya bruised and bleeding. Tommy waltzes in and feeds her a compliment, smiles at her, buys her flowers….” She wiped at the bar. “She hadn’t a chance. I could tell he was no good right from the start. Too slick. Had the eyes of a predator, he did. Like one of the snakes St. Patrick forgot to take care of.” She sighed. “And I hate to say it, cause I love him as only a mother could, but I’m not sure my Flynn’s all that much better. In fact—” She pushed off the bar and wadded her rag. “—I don’t see real care in his face when he looks at her. I think he’s using her like everyone else has. I’m ashamed to say it.”
Sin Worth the Penance Page 5
