Rannigan's Redemption: Complete Collection

by Pandora Spocks

  “We’ll call you with the results of the scan in a few days,” she told him.

  Back out on the street and feeling only slightly thick-headed, Michael hailed a cab and headed back home. He briefly considered calling Alexis again. Surely they could call him with his results no matter where he was. If Alexis had given away the Seattle case, she could put him on another. He couldn’t see just sitting around and waiting.

  On his way into the building, he ran into Beau who was on his way out.

  “Hey man, how’s it going?” Beau asked.

  Michael gave his signature smile. “Great, how about yourself?”

  “Not bad. I think I’m about to get the hang of this baseball thing,” he laughed.

  Michael laughed too. “Alright, then. See you later.” Beau nodded and continued on his way. When the elevator doors closed, Michael leaned heavily against the back wall of the car. The brief exchange had exhausted him. Maybe I’d better take it easy for another couple of days.

  He spent the next three days in the apartment, sleeping until mid-afternoon, watching sports all night. He wore the same sweatpants and t-shirt, not bothering to shower or shave.

  On the afternoon of the third day his phone rang. Michael looked at the device as if it were a cobra, coiled and ready to strike. He finally picked it up on the fifth ring.

  “Michael, this is Dr. Alexander. Your scan results are back.” Michael waited, holding his breath. “Are you there?” the doctor asked.

  He blinked and swallowed hard. “Yeah, I’m here. My results are back. And?”

  “And I’d like you to come in so we can go over them.”

  “Can’t you just tell me over the phone?” Michael asked.

  The doctor sighed. “I’d prefer for you to meet with me so that I can show you the images and we can discuss next steps.”

  Michael hesitated. In so many ways, ignorance is bliss. As long as I don’t know what I don’t know, everything is fine. He knew he was being irrational.

  “Michael? Can you come in tomorrow?”

  “Um, okay, I can do that.”

  “And Michael,” the doctor said, “you should bring someone with you.”

  Chapter 18

  You should bring someone with you. Those words echoed in Michael’s ears. Shit. That can’t be good. He leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, holding his head in his hands.

  Bring someone with me. Who the fuck would come with me? Michael wracked his brain. I could call Alexis, come clean about why I blew her off.

  In his mind, he tried it on for size. Then he shook his head. We have a business relationship. Aside from the occasional fuck, I’m just a meal ticket to her.

  He thought some more. His best friends had been Murph and Jimbo. That was until he’d screwed them over. Maybe they were ready to let bygones be bygones. He pulled up Brian’s number and pressed ‘call’ before he could change his mind.

  “Hey, Murph, how’s it going?”

  There was hesitation on the other end. “Michael?”

  “Yeah, it’s me. Long time, no hear from. How are you doing?” Michael sounded overly cheerful.

  “We’re, um, we’re good. How about you?”

  “Oh, you know, I’m alright. I was wondering...”

  “Listen Michael, I have to go. My son’s Little League game starts in about half an hour, so...”

  Michael blinked and nodded. “Okay, I understand. It was good talking to you, Murph.”

  “Yeah, Michael, good talking to you, too.” He disconnected before Michael could say anything else.

  Michael breathed out sharply. He dialed Jim Metheny’s house before he could back out. The man’s wife answered. “Pam, hi, this is Michael. How are you?”

  Again, there was a pause. “Michael? Rannigan?” she asked incredulously.

  “Yeah, it’s me. How are you and the family?”

  “How are we? You ask now, after the hell you put us through, how are we?” Her voice became louder with each word.

  Michael heard Jim’s voice in the background. “Honey, who is it?”

  “It’s Michael fucking Rannigan!”

  “Give me that,” Jim said. “Hello, Michael?”

  “Hey, Jimbo,” Michael said, still attempting cheerful and charming.

  “Don’t call us again,” Jim said quietly before hanging up the phone.

  “Shit,” Michael muttered to himself. He looked at the clock. It was nearly 6:00. He’d probably interrupted their dinner. Which just added insult to injury in their view. “I’m such a shit.”

  He scrolled through his contacts searching for anyone who might be sympathetic. Stan Hodges’ name came up. Stan had always been rock solid. A more even-keeled person Michael had never met. He dialed Stan’s number hopefully. The man’s wife picked up. Michael couldn’t remember her name.

  “Hi, this is Michael Rannigan. I was wondering if I could speak to Stan.”

  For the third phone call in a row, the woman on the other end hesitated. He heard her breathe out. “Stan died six months ago, Michael. You’re a little late.” With that, she hung up the phone.

  Michael felt gut-punched. How did I not know that Stan died? Because I’m a shit, that’s why. Suddenly the walls of the apartment were closing in on him. He peeled off his clothes on the way to the shower and stood under the hot torrent ignoring the still-present stitches in his shoulder as three days of grunge rinsed off of him.

  After the shower, he shaved quickly, nicking himself twice in the process, then he hurriedly dressed in jeans, a light blue button-down, and a navy jacket.

  Out on the sidewalk Michael breathed in the night air. It was a cool and drizzling March evening but after three days inside, it felt heavenly. He turned and headed up the street a few blocks, ducking into Dylan Murphy’s where he found a stool at the bar and ordered a bourbon.

  As he sipped, he felt his old self returning. He shook his head. This is a minor setback, nothing more. I’ll get this taken care of and move on with life.

  He took out his phone and began scrolling through his contacts once again. Maggie. No, not Maggie, he thought shaking his head again and moving on. Kimberley. He pressed ‘call’.

  “Hey gorgeous,” he crooned when she picked up.

  “What do you want, Michael?” she asked sharply.

  “Don’t want anything, baby,” he charmed. “Just wondered if you wanted to meet me for a drink.”

  “Mm-hmm, you want to know if I want to drop everything and come meet you for a drink. Is there some reason you couldn’t call me earlier?” she asked angrily. “You’re already at the bar, aren’t you?”

  “I’m at Murphy’s. Come on and meet me here. Or pick someplace you’d like to go, I’m easy,” Michael said, smiling.

  “Your date didn’t show up. That’s why you’re calling me. Go fuck yourself!” She promptly hung up on him.

  “Shit,” he muttered, scrolling through his contacts. It was the same with the next five women he tried. Either they were busy or they were pissed with him. After two bourbons and no luck, he caught a cab outside the pub.

  “Take me to the Village,” he told the driver.

  Michael stood where the cab left him, on the sidewalk staring up at the brick arches of the NYU School of Law. He always felt better here. It felt like home. In law school he’d been king, respected by peers and professors alike, had his pick of women. His whole life had been before him here.

  He sighed as the drizzle began to come down heavier. From there he walked the half block to the Blue Note and found a stool at the smaller bar, ordering yet another bourbon. He wasn’t sure he was supposed to drink, given the circumstances, but he didn’t care anymore.

  He stayed until the place closed at midnight and found himself jettisoned into the rainy night along with the handful of other lingerers. The group scattered in their own directions. Michael walked aimlessly, pulling up the lapels of his jacket in a vain attempt to keep the rain off of him.

  The idea of hailing a cab and hea
ding back uptown crossed his mind but he found that he couldn’t stomach being locked up in his apartment again. He’d thought to find another bar but everything seemed to be closed. What the hell happened to the city that doesn’t sleep?

  He’d taken several turns and, bleary-eyed, he found himself a bit disoriented. Squinting hard at the street signs, he moved in what he thought was the direction of the university again, the better to find a cab. Sudden familiarity caused him to stop.

  He stared up at the brownstone apartment building. Maggie. There was a light on in her second floor window. It used to be her window, anyway. She’s probably married and moved somewhere else by now.

  Michael crossed the street and climbed the steps of the building, using the light from his phone to illuminate the names on the mailboxes. Apartment 201. M. Flynn. He glanced back up at the lighted window and pushed the buzzer.

  * * *

  In the weeks and months following Mike’s departure, Maggie threw herself into her work, often staying late and taking home files to work on at night. The only times she went out were when Ben and Nate insisted that she accompany them out dancing or drinking. Casey came for a long weekend and she and Maggie went to their old law school haunts like the Blue Note, drinking and reminiscing about the good old days.

  “You have to get back out there, Maggie,” Casey had said. “I know that Mike turned out badly, but there are great guys out there.”

  Maggie had shaken her head. “I’m alone in this world. And I’m okay with that. I love my job, it’s very rewarding, and I’m damn good at it. I just make rotten choices when it comes to men.”

  She knew Casey thought it was simply a reaction to the break-up but Maggie had settled it in her mind. Some people were meant to be alone. She was happy for Casey with her family. She was happy that Ben and Nate had each other. And she was content with her life the way it was.

  Late one cold rainy March night, Maggie sat curled up on her living room couch, dressed in her pajamas and robe, wooly purple socks on her feet. Surrounding her on the couch and the coffee table were the case files for tomorrow’s depositions. She glanced at the clock on the microwave. 12:35. Just another half hour or so and I’ll give up for the night and go to bed.

  Returning to the statement she’s been reading, she was startled when her door buzzed. What the... She waited a moment and it buzzed again. Laying aside the folders on her lap, she tiptoed to the edge of her window and peered out into the night. She saw a figure on the steps below. He looked up and their eyes met.

  Michael?

  Chapter 19

  “Michael?” Maggie asked into the intercom.

  “Hey, Mags.” His voice sounded tinny over the ancient device. “I know it’s late. I’m sorry. But when I saw your light on, I mean... Can I come up?”

  Maggie hesitated, her finger hovering over the button. “What do you want, Michael?”

  “Mags, I just...I just want to talk.”

  She shook her head, checking the time again. What the hell? And he’s probably drunk. Standing out there in the rain like he’s got absolutely no sense.

  She pressed the door buzzer. “Don’t wake my neighbors,” she admonished him.

  Maggie pulled the wooly cream colored robe tighter around herself, tying the belt securely and she stalked to the door, opening it to wait for Michael. She watched him coming up the stairs, his soaked hair matted to his head. His wet shoes squeaked softly with each footfall. She started to say something snippy but noticed the haunted look in his eyes, so she simply stepped back and let him into the apartment. She closed the door behind him and walked to the kitchen counter where she leaned back, crossing her arms, head cocked at him expectantly.

  Michael stood just inside the doorway, rainwater pooling all around his feet. He looked ill at ease and uncertain.

  “Well?” she finally said.

  He ran his fingers through his wet hair and sighed deeply.

  “Oh for God’s sake, Michael!” She left him standing there and returned with a large blue towel. “You’re soaked.”

  She took his jacket from him and hung it over the back of a kitchen chair. As he used the towel to dry his face and hair, she couldn’t help herself. “Are you drunk?”

  He frowned and shook his head. “I’m not drunk. I had some bourbon. I might be drunk. A little.”

  Maggie rolled her eyes. “Sit down. I’m making you some coffee so we can send you home. Have you eaten lately?”

  “I don’t know.” Michael sank onto a chair at the kitchen table. He glanced around as Maggie busied herself putting a kettle of water on the stove and taking a French press from a cupboard.

  “I hope I’m not causing a problem with your fiancé. Husband? Whatever.”

  Maggie paused to look at him, her lips forming a grim line. “Yeah, well, that didn’t work out so...no worries.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.”

  She worked in silence breaking eggs into a bowl and putting strips of bacon into a skillet as Michael sat at the table and occasionally used the towel to swipe at his face. On the stove, the bacon began to sizzle as the kettle whistled. Maggie poured the boiling water into the press and let it stand for a moment as she chopped a small onion and part of a green pepper.

  “Did you know Stan Hodges died?” Michael finally asked.

  Maggie arched an eyebrow. “I was at the funeral. Where were you?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered vaguely. He watched her grate cheddar into the eggs. Then she pressed the plunger on the coffee and poured some into a cornflower blue mug with a white script ‘M’ on the side.

  M for Maggie. Or Michael. He shook his head to dismiss the inane thought. Looking around the small apartment, he asked, “Why are you still here?”

  Maggie glanced over her shoulder. “What, I should move uptown into one of your glass and steel monstrosities?”

  “I was just thinking that you could afford a bigger place, that’s all.”

  “This may be a tiny apartment but this building has soul. Once upon a time, a family called this place home. Maybe I can’t afford to own a whole townhouse but at least I can rent a small part of it.”

  Michael watched her for a moment. “You could have bought your own townhouse if you’d stayed with the firm.”

  Maggie turned around and leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. “If I’d stayed, I’d have been out of a job along with everyone else. You really tanked everyone, you know that, right?”

  He looked down at his hands. “I wouldn’t have pursued the television thing if you’d still been there.”

  She snorted, returning to her cutting board. “Bullshit. Being on the news every night is exactly your thing. You can’t put that off on me.”

  She set the coffee in front of him. “What are you doing here, Michael?”

  He stalled, sipping the steaming hazelnut blend. “This isn’t where I meant to be. I went out and ended up down here in the Village. I was at the Blue Note until they kicked everybody out. I got a little lost and then realized I was across the street from your apartment.”

  Maggie turned back to her omelet, stirring in the vegetables. The bacon had quieted down and she turned over the strips, causing them to erupt into loud sizzling once again. “Why are you here?” she asked again.

  “I’m sick,” he said quietly.

  “I don’t doubt it. It’s forty degrees outside and you’re soaked. It’s a wonder you don’t have pneumonia.”

  “It’s cancer.”

  Maggie froze mid-stir. “What?” Slowly, she turned around.

  “Cancer.”

  “Shit.” She crossed to the table and sank onto the chair across from him, gaping at him wide-eyed.

  “There was this spot. And then they found out it was melanoma.” Michael’s face twisted. “Mags, you wouldn’t believe the chunk they cut out of my shoulder.”

  “Well, they got it then,” she said. “Good. That’s good, right?”

  “Baco
n’s burning,” Michael said quietly.

  “Fuck!” She jumped up and took the pan off the burner.

  “I like it that way,” he offered as she set the strips of bacon on a paper towel to drain and poured the omelet into the pan.

  “So after they took the hunk out of my arm they did a biopsy. It was melanoma, just like the doctor said. Then they had me get a PET scan. Said they needed to see if it had spread.”

  Maggie worked mechanically at the egg mixture in the pan, listening intently as he spoke. “And?” she asked as she slid the omelet onto a blue ceramic plate. She placed it in front of him and sat down again.

  “And they called this afternoon to say they have the results. The doctor wouldn’t discuss it over the phone. He wants me to come in tomorrow.” He looked down at the plate. “He said I should have someone with me.”

  “Oh my God. Michael.”

  He nodded. “I started making phone calls. That’s how I found out about Stan. Which was after I called Murph and then Jimbo. They pretty much told me to go fuck myself.”

  Maggie watched him grimly. I imagine they did.

  “I called some of the women I go out with. I guess everybody has a lot going on.” He sighed. “I thought about calling you. But, I don’t know. I’ve been an asshole. Plus I figured you were busy with getting married and stuff.” He met her eyes. “I didn’t mean to come here, honest to God.”

  She watched him pick at the omelet. “My agent’s pissed at me because I bailed on some appearances. Asking her to come with me is out of the question. She’s probably not in town anyway.”

  Michael shook his head. “I don’t know why they’re insisting that someone comes with me to that appointment tomorrow. I should just go and find out what the scan shows, figure out where to go from there. It’s just...” His voice broke. “Mags, I’m scared shitless.” He put down the fork and held his head in his hands.

  Maggie could never have imagined a scenario in which S. Michael Rannigan would break down sobbing at her kitchen table. She felt as though her heart would break.

  “Michael,” she said softly, standing beside him, placing her hand on his shoulder. His body shook as he let loose the emotions that had been building since the day the nightmare had started. “It’s okay,” she murmured. “It’s okay, everything’s going to be alright.” She waited for him to quiet down. “What time is your appointment?”