She gripped her towel tighter and took a step back. “What are you doing here?"
"I live here."
"But you're supposed to be at work."
"It's nice to see you, too, Georgia,” he growled, obviously in a bad mood. “I see you made it home in one piece."
"I need to get dressed,” she said, ignoring him.
But Blackie blocked her path, refusing to allow her to pass. “It can wait."
"Blackie!"
"Why'd you go tearin’ out of the garage earlier?"
Uh-oh. “I wanted to come home."
"Why?"
"Because there was something I wanted to do! What do you care?"
"Don't make me answer that."
She looked him dead in the eye. “I'm not using heroin anymore. I've done everything I can to help all three of your families since I moved out of the garage, and I don't lie, cheat, or steal. I'm an adult, and you don't have the right to nose around in every aspect of my business! What I had to do, Blackie, was personal. You can stand here trying to intimidate me all you want, but I'm not telling you anything."
He continued to give her the evil eye for another few seconds before stepping to the side, silently telling her he was dropping the subject ... for now.
Before she stepped away, he got in the last word. “You got thirty minutes to return Kane's truck. If I catch you drivin’ without a license again, I don't give a damn how old you are, I'll beat your ass till it's black and blue. Understand?"
Okay, so he was going to discipline her for two things: taking a swing at him and driving without a license. She wasn't happy about it, but Georgia nodded because she knew Blackie wasn't fooling around. He didn't issue idle threats. If he said he was going to do something ... he'd do it.
* * * *
"She's up to somethin',” Blackie told his brothers on a Wednesday afternoon, two weeks after the day Georgia had borrowed Kane's truck.
Sitting across the card table from his two brothers in the empty garage, Rebel continued flicking his lighter on and off for what seemed like the hundredth time. “Why do you think that?"
Blackie reached out and snatched the lighter from Rebel and threw it across the room. “Because I just do!” he yelled without meaning to. But he couldn't help it. He was still suffering from some serious nicotine withdrawal—which had had him on edge all week—and he was upset. He'd been watching Georgia closely since the day he'd cornered her in the hall, and knew without a doubt that something was up.
"What the hell kind of answer is that?” Judd demanded.
"She's changed, Judd."
"How so?"
"Well, for starters, she's been watchin’ the damn mailbox for over a week, like she's expectin’ somethin'. And every time the mailman shows up, she's always the first one out the door."
Judd shrugged, which pissed Blackie off even more. “So what? Maybe she's waiting on a letter."
Blackie reached out and slapped Judd in the side of the head. “Wise up, asshole. Georgia ain't told none of her old friends where she's livin', so who the hell is gonna send her a letter?"
"I don't know, but there has to be some kind of explanation."
"Judd—” Rebel warned in a low voice.
When Judd jumped out of his chair, it was obvious to Blackie that he was looking for a fight. “What, Rebel? What!"
"Are you confident she's not using? I don't know the exact statistics, but I do know that a good number of heroin addicts relapse. It's a common thing, Judd. We knew there was a good chance it would happen."
Blackie watched Judd for a minute as he paced the floor, continuously running his hands through his hair and feeling bad for his younger brother. Judd was closer to Georgia than any of them, including Angel, Dusty, and Gypsy. He had an enormous soft spot when it came to their sister, and Blackie's suspicions were probably the last thing Judd had wanted to hear.
"No!” Judd shouted. “She is not using again! I'd know it, boys. I would know it. She hasn't changed, she's eating and laughing and acting normal. Just the other day, she had on a T-shirt and I didn't see any needle marks in her arm—"
Blackie reached out, grabbed his brother by the shoulders and literally shook him. “Judd! Georgia's an addict. Just because you ain't seen no needle tracks in her arms don't mean she ain't usin'! She could be snortin’ the heroin or smokin’ it. Hell, she could be shootin’ up between her toes and we'd never know it."
Judd's shoulders slumped, making Blackie feel like a complete asshole. He felt bad for practically talking Judd into believing that Georgia was using again, but he honestly believed she was, and knew it was better for Judd to learn the truth sooner rather than later.
Finally, Rebel spoke up. “Well, what about Wade? He sees her once a week. Don't you think he'd say something to us if he thought she was using again? Even if she could fool us, there's no way she could fool him; he's got too much experience."
Not having thought of that, Blackie considered the possibility. “I hope he would say somethin'. I don't think there's any counselor/patient confidentiality law that would prevent him from talkin’ to us."
"I think we should talk to him before we accuse Georgia of anything,” Rebel suggested.
"I tried, Reb. He was in a meetin’ when I called over there. The receptionist said he'd call back, but probably not until sometime after seven tonight. That's three hours from now, and I ain't waitin’ that long."
Judd was now looking at him like he was crazy. “So what are you saying, Blackie, you want to go confront Georgia with this before we even talk to her counselor? No,” he said, shaking his head. “No way. She's working hard to better herself and has been fine all these months. We owe it to her to at least give her the benefit of the doubt."
Blackie looked from one of his brothers to the other. They were right, of course, but he didn't know if he could wait to talk to Wade. All he could think about was how much they'd all sacrificed for their sister; trusted her in their homes and around their wives and kids, and how now, there was a possibility she thrown it up in their faces, gone behind their backs, and started using heroin again. “You boys do what you want, I'm goin’ home. If she's there, we're gonna sit down and have a nice long chat."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter 21
Two weeks after Bert had promised Georgia she'd have the part for Blackie's gun, it still hadn't arrived. Disappointed by his broken promise, Georgia was sitting on the back porch steps of Blackie and Angel's house trying to decide whether or not to call him, when she heard footsteps in the woods.
"Hey Georgia."
From her seat, Georgia looked up and spotted her nephew, who looked so much like Judd it was scary, emerge from the trees holding a baseball glove in one hand, and a can of soda in the other. With a few of his little-too-long, loose and unruly, dark curls hanging in his face and dressed in grass-stained blue jeans, a sweatshirt, and worn tennis shoes, Jay looked like every other nine-year-old she'd ever known.
Except that he didn't act the typical nine-year-old.
Well on his way to being an expert marksman like his father, uncles, and cousins, Jay had seen and done things most adults never experienced. He was street smart and serious, and could hold his own in a conversation with any adult he came into contact with.
He could also, because he was nine, belch the entire alphabet ... two times in a row.
Georgia loved Jay. Because of the things they'd experienced, he, like her, was lost somewhere in between the teenage and adult world. The two of them understood each other well. Since they'd gotten to know one another, he'd been more like a little brother to her than a nephew, and she honestly loved him. Around Jay, she knew she could be herself without being judged or second-guessed. Their relationship was based solely on the fact that they had fun together and enjoyed each other's company.
"Hi, Jay.” She patted the space next to her, and he sat down. “What are you doing here?"
"Angel and Gypsy are at my house with
all the kids, helping my mom put stuff away. Since the guys are working late at the garage, Mom sent me down here to see if you wanted to come over and eat pizza with us."
"Hmm ... pizza, huh?"
Jay set his glove and soda can on the ground next to him, and reached down to pick up a stick. He stared at it for only a few seconds before he dug into his front pocket and retrieved a pocketknife. He pulled the blade out, and began shaving off the bark. “Yeah, my mom's glad the house is finally finished, but says she's too damn tired to cook."
Georgia laughed. Her brothers and nearly all of their cousins had worked almost non-stop to finish Judd and Dusty's house since they'd announced last month that she was expecting a baby at the beginning of September. When they'd hammered in the final nail the weekend before, Dusty waited about two and a half seconds before she started moving stuff in.
"I guess your mom's pretty happy to finally have her house back."
"Yeah,” Jay said, keeping most of his attention focused on the stick. “But I don't know why she was in such a hurry. Living with Uncle Rebel and Aunt Gypsy was fun."
"New houses are a lot of work, Jay,” she explained. “I think Dusty and Judd really wanted to be settled before the baby is born."
"Yeah, but the baby won't be here for another six months, Georgia. That's half a year."
Grateful Jay wasn't looking at her face, she smiled at the way he described six months ... as if she had no idea how long it was.
"Settling in is more than just putting your clothes away. Your parents still have to paint, put in carpet, decorate, and do all the other stuff that goes along with a new house. The things they have to do are going to take some time."
"I guess,” was his only response.
Georgia shrugged, and the two of them sat in companionable silence until Jay finished stripping the stick of its bark. After inspecting his work, he ran his finger along the smooth wood, then tossed it into the yard and shoved the knife back into his pocket. “So do you want to come over for pizza?"
Staring at Jay's baseball glove, she was nodding to let him know she'd go with him, just as she noticed for the first time that the glove was actually a catcher's mitt. “I like your glove,” she told him. “Are you a catcher?"
"Kind of. This is the first year I'm going to get to play on a real team, but Church loves baseball and started teaching me how to catch when I was four."
Church, despite being as scary and intimidating as Blackie, as well as a fellow Renegade, was a nice man. Georgia had met Dusty's brother-in-law, as well as her sister, Jessie, when they'd traveled up from Virginia a few weeks earlier to look for a house to buy in Hagerstown.
They'd stayed at Blackie and Angel's house, since Rebel's was full. But everyone had gathered there for dinner, and Georgia had loved listening to everyone tell stories about her brothers and Dusty and her sisters when they were younger. They had all been close and looked out for each other since they were kids. And even though each one of them had been as wild as the next, they'd been a family, even back then, without even realizing it.
"So you've got your glove out to start practicing for baseball season?"
"Yeah, for that, and softball season, too."
Softball? “You're going to play softball, too?"
"Not really, I'm just going to help out. Every Sunday from April through August, the McCassey's play coed, fastpitch softball in the Hagerstown Tradesmen League."
Hmm, she'd like to hear a little more about that. “Really?"
"Yeah!” Jay's full-blown excitement seemed to be too much for him to handle sitting down. He was so antsy and jumpy that he stood up and put his glove on. Two seconds later, he began fumbling with the ball he'd had stashed in the pocket. “All the blue collar companies around here have a team. That's what my dad told me. He's the catcher for McCassey's Garage. The guys play against plumbers, electricians, farmers, landscapers, construction workers, other mechanics—"
"And you're going to play, too?” she asked, cutting him off.
"Nah, I can't. You have to be eighteen to officially be on the roster. But Uncle Rebel said I could help out. Since I can catch, he told me I could be in charge of warming up the pitchers."
Georgia suddenly felt a flutter of that old, familiar excitement. The one she always experienced before not just a big game, but any game.
Did she dare try it?
She hadn't thrown, or even touched a softball in over four years. Even so, when she closed her eyes, she could still picture herself on the mound; saw clear as day exactly where her fingers were on the ball for each different pitch she used to throw.
Not only had she been running lately to get back into shape, she'd also been using Blackie's weights during the day while he was at work, trying to rebuild her arm strength.
But what if she couldn't throw anymore?
What if she was so rusty that she couldn't get the ball to go where she wanted it to?
What if her talent had been at its peak when she was fifteen, and she just didn't have what it took to be competitive anymore?
There was only one way to find out. “You know, I just happen to have a softball and my old glove in the house,” she told Jay. “You want to play a little catch before we go to your house ... just to see how you might do warming up a pitcher?"
The smile that stretched from one of Jay's ears to the other was all the answer she needed. “I'll go get my stuff,” she told him, more than a little excited herself. “I'll be right back."
Fifteen minutes later, Georgia and Jay were standing thirty feet away from each other in the backyard. She had stretched her body, stretched her arm, and paced out the exact distance between a pitchers mound and home plate. Usually, she liked to stand an extra fifteen to twenty feet away when she practiced—which, she always believed, is what had taught her to throw so hard—but didn't want to overdo it right away.
Sliding her glove onto her hand for the first time in so many years was exhilarating. The scent and feel of the well worn leather against her skin was so comforting it was like finding a lost friend; like coming home.
Georgia took a few deep breaths, positioned herself, and focused. She knew she needed to begin slowly to avoid hurting herself. With her eyes trained on Jay's glove, she slowly looped her arm around in a windmill motion, releasing the ball toward its intended target. When it hit dead on, landing in Jay's glove with a quiet ‘snap', she had to restrain herself from jumping for joy.
I did it! I can't believe I can still do it!
After fifteen minutes and twenty more slow pitches, Jay stood up and walked toward her as if he was coming out to the mound for a conference. Georgia couldn't help but smile; he was obviously having as much fun as she was.
"Um, Georgia,” he said slowly, “your throws are accurate and all, but—"
"But what?"
"Well...” He hesitated, as if he was trying not to hurt her feelings. “I'm not trying to be mean or anything, but if you want to play with the guys, you're going to have to throw harder. If you pitch that slow to Uncle Blackie, he'll hit the ball into orbit. Can you speed it up a little?"
Could she? Those slow warm-up throws had been dead on, but could she still keep her pitches under control if she put a little heat into the ball?
Her arm was warm and feeling good, so she might as well try. “I think so. But you have to pay close attention and promise not to take your eye off the ball, okay, Jay? I haven't thrown in a while and if a pitch goes wild, I don't want to you to get hurt."
Jay shed his sweatshirt, threw it to the ground, and smiled. “Don't you worry about me, Georgia, I'll be fine."
Yeah, he'd be fine as long as she didn't take his head off with a wild pitch.
"I wish I knew that was true."
Jay stepped forward and laid a hand on her forearm. “You just worry about getting the ball to me, Georgia,” he said encouragingly. “I'll make sure it lands in the glove. It's just like playing catch."
Amazing. Here she was getting a
pep talk from a nine-year-old that was actually building her confidence. “You're a cool kid, you know that, Jay?"
He winked at her and turned away without saying anything as he walked across the yard.
Boy, did she wish she had his confidence. He was a smart kid. With a little bit of all three of her brothers in him, there was no doubt in her mind that Jay was going to go far in life. Not to mention the fact that with his looks, he was going to be a dangerous ladies’ man someday.
Following his lead, Georgia took off her sweatshirt as well. It was a warm day for mid-March, but in her sleeveless shirt, she felt the slight nip that was in the air prickling at her skin. It doesn't matter; I'll be warm in no time.
When Jay lifted his hand and gave the signal that he was ready, Georgia lifted hers in return to let him know that she was, too.
Still not putting everything she had into it, Georgia sped herself up, added a little heat to the ball, and fired. Although it was just a hair inside, the ball hit its mark once again. This time, the slap as it landed in the glove was loud enough to let her know that Jay's hand was probably stinging right about now.
Brave as he was, he scooped the ball out of the pocket, leaned forward on one knee, and threw it back to her.
Fifteen pitches later, Georgia was feeling very much like her old self. She'd been adding a little extra heat and muscle to each pitch, and was now ready to have Jay move back a few more feet.
She ran down to meet him. “How are you doing?” she asked. “Are you okay?"
He was staring at her like she had two heads. “Jay?"
"Huh?"
"Is your hand okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?"
"I'm fine,” he said, nodding without blinking. “Fine."
Georgia wasn't so sure about that, but desperately wanted to pitch a few more, so she took his word for it. “I'm going to back you up about ten more feet, okay?"
Shaking his head as if he was trying to clear it, he agreed. “Yeah, yeah, that's cool."
"Are you sure?"
The Long Road Home [The Final McCassey Brothers Book] Page 17
