That Jones Girl (The Mississippi McGills, Sequel)

by Webb, Peggy

  “When I was a little boy, I always wanted to go to the carnival.”

  “Didn’t you ever get to?” Tess asked.

  “Alas, my family was too strict. They said it was the devil’s playground.”

  “So it was.” Mick chuckled. “And I was one of the devils.”

  “You know carnivals?” Casey leaned over the seat.

  “I grew up in one. That very carnival, as a matter of fact. Brinkley Brothers’ Carnival.”

  “Saints be praised. We’ll be turning back then, going to pay a visit to the folks who gave you your raising, or I’ll be missin’ my guess. And besides that, I’ve been wanting some cotton candy. My mouth is fairly watering for the taste of some pink cotton candy.”

  “Your mouth is fairly watering from talking too much,” Mick said, but he was laughing as he turned the car around and headed back to the carnival.

  The first thing they did was buy some cotton candy. As Mick stood in the midway with colored lights flashing all around and the voices of hawkers ringing in his ears, he was transported backward to a time when he was twelve years old.

  Uncle Arthur was fitting a suit on him, wielding scissors and needle and thread with an expertness born of necessity. “Hold still, Mick. I’ve got to get this right.” Uncle Arthur had cut up an old red polka-dotted shirt he wore sometimes when he subbed for Grady the Clown, and he was trying to fashion a bow tie for Mick.

  “Now remember this,” he had said. “Most things in life you can get with a good con. But the things that are really worth having, you have to earn.”

  He worked some more on the tie, cutting and measuring until he had made a lopsided but passable tie.

  “Now we’re going in there together, Mick, and we’re going to convince Mr. Buzz Brinkley that you can earn your keep here at the carnival and that you won’t be hardly any trouble at all and won’t cost the Brinkley brothers a penny. And then me and you will be a team, hey? We’re going to earn that right to be, hey?”

  Mick stood on the midway with Tess and OToole on one side and Casey on the other, hearing the voice from his past.

  “Mick.” Tess tugged his hand, bringing him back to the present. “Look, Mick. There’s a fortunetelling booth.” She leaned around and smiled at Casey. “Do you want to have your fortune told?”

  “You kids go on and have a good time. OToole and I are going to sit on that bench over there and eat my cotton candy and watch the crowds. Then maybe we’ll take a little stroll down the midway to see all the attractions. We’ll be waiting for you on the bench.”

  Having said all that, he strolled off, swinging OToole’s carrying case and whistling.

  Mick and Tess stood side by side, watching him go. A large gang of noisy teenagers passed close by, jostling Tess aside so that she fell against Mick. He caught her close to his chest, and they stared at each other, frozen in time, as red and blue and yellow neon lights played over their faces.

  “Do you want to know what the future holds for you, Tess, my girl?”

  “Do you?”

  “I already know mine.” His eyes took on a bleak faraway look.

  “You’re leaving, aren’t you, Mick?”

  “How did you know?”

  “I felt it. You started leaving yesterday, as we walked beside the river.”

  “It’s time to be moving on.”

  “What about Casey?”

  “I’ll find a place for him.”

  “No. He can come with me. Back to Chicago.”

  “He doesn’t have a son, you know.”

  “I suspected as much.”

  “He’s just a lonely old man without a family.”

  “Then he and I will divide our loneliness so we’re both only half-lonely.”

  “Are you lonely, Tess, my girl?”

  “Right now I am.” She was bleak, too, but she tossed her head and gave him a bright smile. “It will pass. Someone will come along to fill the void. Who knows? Maybe I’ll marry again.”

  Flannigan wanted to roar like a wounded jungle beast. But he had no right.

  “Perhaps you will.” He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. “I hope you’ll find happiness the next time around.”

  “It’s not happiness I’m looking for, Flannigan. I’m already happy most of the time.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “Somebody who can tolerate my wicked ways and stick around for the long haul.”

  Flannigan didn’t want to think of another man staying with Tess for the long haul, growing old with her, perhaps having children, eventually dying and being buried by her side or else having their ashes mixed and tossed into a shining river somewhere. But he had no right to voice any objections. He was only an ex-husband, passing through.

  “What about you, Flannigan? What are you looking for?”

  “I’ll know when I find it.”

  They stood holding each other in the midway with the crowd swirling around them.

  “Hey, big fella,” a hawker yelled at Flannigan. “Are you going to stand there hugging your girl, or are you going to win her a teddy bear?”

  “Win me a teddy bear, Mick. Something to keep me warm at night until I can find another husband.”

  Tess stepped back from him, laughing and sparkling for all she was worth. She was determined to be merry and amusing and, above all, indestructible. Mick was leaving, as she had known he would, and this time, she was going to tell him goodbye.

  Her heart could break when she got back to Chicago, and she could pour out her anguish in a smoky nightclub, singing the blues. But while she was with Mick Flannigan tonight, she was going to be Tess Jones, the woman with an invincible spirit.

  Mick pitched nickels into a bottle and won her a teddy bear. Then he knocked weighted targets off a shelf with a baseball and won her a gold pasteboard crown. They rode the carousel and the Ferris wheel and the trains through the tunnel of love, laughing as they had when they were young and falling in love. When they came to a booth with plastic ducks swimming across fake water, Mick shot them down, one by one, and won her another prize. It was a fake diamond ring.

  Yellow neon lights set the glass stone sparkling, and for an instant Tess imagined the ring was real. She glanced up to see a dark, brooding look on Flannigan’s face. That would never do. This time, she was going to be in charge of the goodbyes. She was determined that they remember each other with laughter and not with tears.

  “It’s an omen, Mick.” She laughed, and held the ring out to him. “Put it on my finger.”

  He slipped the ring on her finger, catching her lighthearted mood.

  “Will you marry me, Tess Jones?”

  “Only if your name is not Flannigan or Carson or OToole. I’ve tried all of them, and they didn’t last.”

  “The name is Canfield, Raiford Canfield.” He gave an exaggerated bow from the waist.

  “In that case, Mr. Canfield, I accept.”

  He squeezed her hand and stood looking down into her face, wishing they were twenty-four again and starting all over. The intensity of his mood tugged at her, and she struggled against it.

  In spite of her valiant efforts, she couldn’t recapture her lighthearted spirit.

  “Don’t do this to me, Mick,” she whispered. He leaned closer, his dark hair falling over his forehead. She reached up to smooth it back. “Don’t make this hard.”

  He cupped her face with both hands. “I love you, Tess, my girl. I’ll always love you.”

  “I know... but not enough to stay.”

  He pressed his lips to her forehead. They stood that way for a long time, and then Tess pulled back to look up at him.

  “Mick, take me to a motel.”

  “Are you sleepy?”

  “No. I want to tell you good-bye.”

  “Tess...”

  She knew he was going to protest. Damn his noble hide, he was going to walk away without so much as a decent kiss.

  “Don’t you dare say a single thing, Mick Flannig
an. Don’t you dare take this away from me.”

  “Take what away from you?”

  “The chance to tell you goodbye, dammit.” Her cheeks flamed as her temper flared. “The last time you walked out on me, I didn’t get a chance for so much as a goodbye kiss. For weeks I kept thinking you’d come back. It seemed as if you’d just gone down to the corner grocery store and had somehow lost your way.”

  “I’m sorry. So sorry.”

  “I don’t want to hear how sorry you are, Flannigan. I just want to tell you goodbye properly this time. And when I’m finished with you, you’ll know I’ve said goodbye forever.”

  “Forever sounds so final.”

  “It is, Flannigan. Our paths crossed this time by chance, and I’m going to make certain they don’t cross again.”

  He didn’t have to ask why: He knew. Saying goodbye was too hard.

  “Let’s go.” He took her hand and practically dragged her through the crowd.

  As tall as she was, she had to hurry to keep up with him. Casey was waiting for them on the bench, his face fixed in an expectant smile. When he saw them, his smile faded. He had wanted to see two people who had fallen in love all over again, but what he saw was two people who looked as if they were heading into the Battle of Armageddon.

  He stood up, leaning a little on his cane. “Did you two enjoy the carnival?”

  “Marvelous.”

  “Wonderful.”

  They both spoke at once, their grim voices sounding as if they were describing germ warfare. Casey’s heart was heavy as he followed them to the car, trotting to keep up.

  “I’m guessing my little game’s about over,” he said, but nobody heard him.

  They all climbed into the car, Casey sitting in the back with OToole. Of the four of them, only OToole was in a good mood.

  The car roared down Highway 90, carrying its four passengers and its black cloud of gloom. Mick stopped at the first motel he saw, a small grouping of adobe cottages set back from the highway among live-oak trees shrouded with Spanish moss.

  He made quick work of checking them in and helping settle Casey into his room. When he came out of Casey’s room, Tess had already disappeared into hers. He stalked toward his own door, his thoughts as thunderous as the storms that swept over the Irish Sea.

  What was she doing now? Probably plotting her outrageous plans for saying goodbye. She was going to come to his bed, was she? Come to his bed and weave her magic spell around him and then leave forever, was she?

  “We’ll see about that, Tess Jones Flannigan Carson OToole.”

  He spun around and stormed toward her room. He didn’t even bother knocking.

  The first thing he noticed after he’d picked her lock and eased through the door was her gold sequined shoes, one on top of the dresser and one tossed on the bed. The next thing he saw was a collection of silk gowns, spread upon the bed in a bright rainbow of color.

  The shower was running, and a cloud of steam came through the bathroom door. Following a trail of feathers and jasmine fragrance, he made his relentless way toward Tess. OToole, who had claimed a red gown for his own, glanced up from his nest of silk, then curled back into a ball and shut his eyes.

  Flannigan pulled back the curtain and stepped into the shower.

  Tess paused in the act of soaping her chest, and turned around. The soap and the washcloth slid slowly out of her hands.

  “My God. Flannigan.” She looked him up and down, starting at the top of his head and ending at his feet. “You’re wearing boots.”

  “I always say goodbye with my boots on.”

  He caught her around the waist and hauled her into his body. Soap-slick skin collided with wet blue jeans. Her eyes widened.

  “You’re crazy.”

  “You’re the one who wanted to say goodbye.”

  His mouth slammed down on hers in a savage kiss. She struggled against him, beating his back with her fists. He held on to her, kissing her relentlessly. She flailed and clawed his back, at the same time opening her mouth to welcome his ravaging tongue.

  “Oh, Flannigan... Flannigan.”

  He backed her against the shower wall, bracing his hands on either side of her shoulders. Then he bent down so his mouth was only inches from hers.

  “When I’ve finished with you, you’ll know I’ve said goodbye forever.” His voice had dropped to the deep low octave that always signaled trouble. She heard the rattling of sabers, smelled the burning of gunpowder. “Isn’t that what you said, Tess?”

  “I said it. I also said I was going to give you a proper goodbye.”

  “How proper?” He eased back, and she heard the metallic whisper of his zipper, saw the brief struggle with his wet jeans. Her heart pounded in her chest. “This proper?” he added.

  Suddenly he lifted her up, and she was astraddle him with her legs wrapped around his hips and her back against the wall. Thunder met lightning. The clash sent OToole scurrying under the bed.

  Love and pain and rage boiled in Flannigan, and he cried out his feelings in a heavy Gaelic tongue. She clung to him, calling his name over and over until it was both litany of praise and blues melody of a breaking heart.

  The water cascaded onto them, unheeded. Soap melted and ran in a white puddle down the drain. Flannigan kept his footing by sheer force of will. His clothes were drenched, and Tess’s breasts were pink where his shirt buttons pressed into her tender skin.

  The battle raged on and on, and still they couldn’t say good-bye. They devoured each other, hips joined in a dance as old as time and mouths pressed together, open and hungry.

  They held on, not wanting to let go, not wanting the loving to end. But finally they could hold back no longer. He shouted her name, and it echoed around the tile walls, a long, drawn-out lament.

  She laid her forehead against his shoulder, not knowing whether it was water or tears she dripped over his shirt. He cupped the back of her head, and pressed her close.

  They stayed that way for a long while, holding on to each other in silent agony. And finally he let her go. He lowered her gently to her feet. She leaned against the wall for support, waiting and watching.

  His eyes looked like blue bottle glass that had been shattered. They never left hers as he rearranged his wet clothes. The only sounds were his labored breathing and the water that continued to fall around them.

  Say something! Tess screamed silently.

  But he didn’t. He kept looking at her with shattered eyes.

  She started to speak. She even opened her mouth, but suddenly she knew there was nothing else to say.

  Flannigan watched her awhile longer. Then he reached out one hand and tenderly traced her face, starting at her eyebrows and ending with her lips.

  She closed her eyes, memorizing the feel of his hand on her wet skin. Suddenly his touch was gone. She kept her eyes closed, squeezing them tightly to hold back the tears. She heard the rustle of the shower curtain and the squish of water in his boots. Then there was no sound except the rush of water.

  And when she opened her eyes, Flannigan was gone. She turned off the water, wrapped herself in a towel, and lay down on her bed, in the middle of her rainbow of silk gowns.

  She stared into the darkness for a long, long time. OToole hopped onto the bed and sat beside her shoulder. When she didn’t acknowledge him, he marched across her and burrowed into the red silk.

  “Goodbye, Flannigan,” Tess whispered as she turned her face to the dark wall and closed her eyes.

  CHAPTER TEN

  When Flannigan got back to his room, he stripped off his wet clothes and lay on his bed naked, staring at the dark ceiling. He must have dozed, for eventually the dawn light peeped through his curtains, and he came instantly alert.

  The first thing he did was call the airport; the next thing he did was ring Casey’s room.

  “We need to talk, Casey.”

  “When?”

  “Now. There’s a small coffee shop beside the front office. Meet me there.”


  Flannigan dressed quickly and was already holding a steaming cup of coffee when Casey walked in.

  “You look like hell,” said Casey, sliding into the booth.

  “Good. That’s how I feel.”

  “Where are your boots?”

  “Wet.” Flannigan didn’t explain; he just shifted his tennis shoes out of the way of Casey’s cane and handed him a menu. “We’ll order first.”

  After they had ordered, Flannigan began to talk.

  “The search for your son is over. I told Tess the truth last night.”

  “That’s best, I’m thinkin’. I was going to tell her myself today.” He sopped his biscuit in his egg, watching Flannigan. “I guess I can be finding me another little house down here, something that won’t get soggy every time it rains.”

  “Tess wants to take you with her to Chicago.”

  Casey underwent a transformation. His face brightened, his shoulders straightened, even his spare frame seemed to fill out.

  “Saints be praised.”

  “You will go with her,” said Flannigan, leaning across the table, his face fierce. “You will be charming and cooperative and good to her, and you will never try to con her again. Is that clear?”

  “Perfectly.”

  “Good.” Flannigan pulled an airplane ticket out of his pocket and placed it on the table. “Here’s Tess’s ticket. I’ve made arrangements for it to be changed so she will fly out of Biloxi instead of Tupelo. Yours will be waiting for you at the ticket counter. A taxi will be here at eleven to pick you up.”

  “How did you get her ticket?”

  “I picked her pocket.”

  “And where will you be going, Mick Flannigan?”

  “Somewhere where there are no women with red hair and no old Irish con men.”

  Casey twirled his cane round and round, studying the tormented man sitting across the table. At last he spoke.

  “I wasted most of my life before I found me a family. And then it dropped into my lap by chance. If I hadn’t overheard you in the park... and if Tess hadn’t come back, I would still be in Tupelo in my cardboard box.” Casey leaned across the table.

  his wrinkled face earnest with feeling. “Don’t you be waiting a lifetime to find a family, Mick.”