We’d left Moira and Vera back at our hotel while we met up with my women, and I hoped that their forced interaction would help them find some common ground. Unfortunately for all of us, Moira was going to be around for a long time and I knew as soon as Amy showed up things would become even more uncomfortable. I hoped that maybe things could settle down between the two women before Vera saw my wife again and her loyalty was brought to the forefront.
My wife. God, I missed her.
I couldn’t wait to get my hands on Amy again. It felt like I’d been waiting an eternity for her to arrive. I didn’t even care that she’d had time to stew and probably become even more angry with me. As long as she was with me, I was willing to wait a lifetime for her forgiveness.
When we walked into the pub, the first thing I noticed was the grim look on Doc’s face. My stomach clenched in apprehension when I realized he was alone.
“Where are dey?” I yelled frantically, searching the mostly empty bar.
“Patrick—” Doc said.
“Where is me wife?”
“Calm down, son,” Ham warned, gripping my shoulder. “Let the man talk.”
My teeth came together with a crack as I waited anxiously for Doc to begin speaking again, and it seemed like hours before he opened his mouth.
“They’re not here.”
“What de fuck are ye goin’ on about?” I yelled again, grimacing as Ham’s hand dug into my shoulder.
“Amy wouldn’t come,” Doc said flatly. “Your ma wasn’t about to let her go off on her own, so she went with her.”
“Ye left dem in Ireland alone?” I roared, and before I could take a single step forward, a huge pair of arms wrapped around me, holding me in place.
“No, you did. I put them on a flight to New York before I left.”
My body relaxed in relief before tensing once again. “I have to go,” I said frantically, trying to pull away from Ham’s arms. “I have to go.”
“They’re not there,” Doc informed me, causing me to freeze. “I’m not sure where they were headed from there, but your ma said New York was too expensive. She said to let you know that she’d write you at the club as soon as they got settled.”
My vision filled with red as Doc calmly told me that my wife and mother were traveling by themselves across a country they didn’t know. It didn’t even occur to me that America was where Amy felt most at home. The only thing I could imagine were the two most important people in my life stranded and afraid—alone somewhere with no one to help them or protect them. I was so unbelievably scared that it immediately turned to overwhelming anger at the man in front of me.
The sound that came out of my throat was inhuman, and I lunged, taking Ham with me as I went for Doc’s throat.
I was out cold before I even made contact.
***
“Ye didn’t have to knock me out,” I told Charlie, as I nursed a beer at the bar. “I wouldn’t have killed him.”
Charlie snorted beside me. “He would have killed you, you moron.”
“Fuck off! Yer a right prick, ye know dat?”
“I don’t understand half of what you say, you realize that, right?” he answered with a laugh. “I’m not kidding. The man knows human anatomy better than I know my wife’s pussy. He could kill you with a fuckin’ toothpick.”
“What de hell do I do?” I asked in defeat, drinking the watered down beer in front of me. American beer was fucking disgusting.
“It’s time to go home, man,” Charlie informed me with a slap on the back as he got to his feet. “Nothin’ you can do in this shit hole, and your mom’s gonna write to the clubhouse, yeah? Could be she’s already sent the letter. No way to know until we get there.”
I nodded, following him out of the bar on unsteady legs that I tried to disguise.
No one could know how fucking terrified I was that I’d never get that letter.
***
“Where de fuck are ye, Mum?” I said into the phone, trying to turn my back on the crowded room behind me.
It had been three agonizing weeks since that day in the pub, and I’d finally received a letter that morning in the mail with a telephone number where I could reach Mum. She hadn’t said anything about Amy, and I prayed that wherever they were, at least they were still together.
I was livid and frightened. Everything was different in Oregon, the fucking roads, the money, even the language. Christ, we all spoke English, but there was quite a difference between how I spoke it and how they did. The slang was fucked, the beer tasted like shite, and I’d been going out of my mind with worry.
“Don’t use that tone with me,” Mum warned, before sighing. “I’m sorry it’s taken so long.”
“Where are ye?”
“I’d love to tell ye, but we both know the minute I did, ye’d be on yer way here and I don’t think now is the best time.”
I sputtered, completely caught off guard by her words. Not the best time? What the fuck did that mean?
“Explain yerself,” I said, glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one was paying any attention to the way I was losing it.
“Amy is not ready to see ye.”
“She’s me wife, goddammit!” My voice rose and I could feel my temples throbbing as I tried to calm myself.
“Yer wife willna speak to ye. She doesn’t want to see ye,” she replied apologetically.
“And yer just goin’ to play her game den, is it? Whose Mum are ye?”
“Don’t ye dare, Patrick Gallagher!” Mum’s voice went from calm to furious in a moment. “Ye’ve made yer bed, and ye know it. I’ve got a heartbroken girl here who refuses to speak, I don’t have time fer yer male posturin!’ ”
“Refuses to speak?” I asked, confused as fuck. “What are ye goin’ on about?”
“She’s not said a word since we left Ireland,” she replied, her voice going quiet again. “I’m not sure why, but—”
“Tell me where ye are, Mum. Tell me where ye are and I’ll come take care of it.” I was pleading now, the fear in Mum’s voice causing my heart to race as I remembered Amy when I’d found her at her parents’ house, unwashed and afraid. Even then, she’d matched me word for word. I couldn’t imagine anything that could make her stop speaking for any length of time.
“I’m sorry, son. I’m afraid ye’d make it worse.”
“Mum—”
“Call again in a few days—”
“Mum!”
“I love ye.”
“Mum!”
She hung up and I pulled the phone away from my face in disbelief before throwing it against the wall.
“FUCK!”
I scrubbed my hands over my face, then glanced at the phone that was hanging by its curly cord over the top of the bar. I couldn’t even call back if I’d wanted to; I’d smashed the thing to pieces in my rage.
What the fuck was happening? I’d make her worse? I was her bloody husband! I loved her more than anyone on the entire fucking earth. I’d do anything for her.
“Is everyt’in’ okay, Trick?” Moira asked quietly, coming up behind me to set a hand on my back.
“Not now, Moira,” I mumbled, shrugging her off.
I had to get away from this place. I glanced up to see half of the room watching me curiously, and began tapping my fingers in a familiar rhythm against my thigh. I realized all of them were watching as I lost my mind, and my face fell into an expressionless mask.
“Let’s take a ride, brother. Yeah?” Charlie called as he passed me, thumping me on the back.
Yes. That was exactly what I needed.
I followed him outside and climbed on the bike Ham had loaned me until I could work off a trade.
My wife was hurting and silent somewhere and wanted nothing to do with me.
It was the lowest point in my life.
Chapter 39
Amy
I had nightmares.
To be completely honest, they didn’t happen every night. They only happened on the nig
hts that I actually slept.
I was a mess. Peg and I had rented a small house, not unlike the one we’d had in Ireland, and I’d barely left it since the day we moved in. I just… couldn’t. Peg had found a job pretty quickly in the produce department of the local grocery store, which meant we had money to live, but me? I barely contributed at all.
I cooked and cleaned like a stay at home housewife, but I could barely walk outside to grab the mail at the end of the driveway. Anytime I stepped outside, it felt like I was being watched. Logically, I knew the chances of Malcolm finding me in the small Texas town were nearly impossible. We’d changed busses so many times that the FBI would have a hard time pinpointing our location.
However, fear wasn’t logical—it wasn’t easily overlooked or pushed past. Instead, every day I had to push myself a little farther. I’d go to the store with Peg for groceries, or to the library for books. I’d step out onto the porch while Peg was at work and count to sixty, then one hundred, then I’d set the timer on the stove for five minutes, rushing back inside with a racing heart and sweaty palms as soon as the designated count was over.
I didn’t even look the same. The weight I’d lost in my misery had sharpened my cheekbones, my hand was still taped because I couldn’t bear to look at it, and… my hair. It had begun to grow back in, which made me look a little less like a freak, but it was silver. Every single strand had grown back in gray. The premature graying must have been genetic, but I couldn’t help but feel that it was a mutation caused by trauma. I could barely look at myself in the mirror. It was an outward physical sign that I’d never be the same again. I hated the way I looked, hated the way I couldn’t seem to get past my fears and memories. I hated the way my fingers throbbed in some sort of phantom pain, pain that I didn’t even recall having when I’d lost two of them as a child.
Peg had no idea how to help me. I think she may have felt just as lost as I was. She didn’t coddle me, that wasn’t her style, but she never pushed me, either. She was just there, ready for anything I needed and willing to do whatever she could to help. She continued to talk to me like I was normal, like I had any opinion on which bed to buy at the local thrift store—which we’d gone to before the agoraphobia had kicked in—or what I’d like for dinner, even though I never answered her.
She tried. God knows she tried.
It had been two and a half months since we’d left Ireland and I hadn’t spoken a single word since that day.
My body was healing, but my mind seemed to be stuck in those first few days after the attack. Certain things would set me off, like the trip to the hardware store a couple of blocks away, or the floral print couch Peg found at a yard sale for free.
Then, out of the blue, Peg decided to try something different to get my attention. She’d heard some co-workers discussing a lady that did acupuncture to treat everything from eczema to high blood pressure. I’m not sure if she thought I’d balk enough at the thought of some stranger sticking dozens of little needles in my body to speak up, or if she’d thought it would actually work—but two days later, she told me that I had an appointment.
The fear of leaving the house was getting better. I wasn’t ready to take a cross-country trip, but I was able to leave the house for short periods as long as I was with Peg. I called it progress, though I’m sure Peg would have just called it annoying.
The acupuncture place was calming. There was some low nature sounds coming from the boom box in the corner, some incense burning on two different shelves, and the acupuncturist seemed high. Okay, maybe she wasn’t high, but the woman was seriously calm, far more calm than I’d ever seen anyone. It was like she’d taken both happy pills and some sort of downer… life was good, but she wasn’t going to get all riled up about it.
Everything went okay, and I wasn’t even nervous. She sat me down in a comfortable chair after Peg told her I was mute. Fucking mute? I just didn’t talk. It wasn’t like I couldn’t.
Of course I didn’t correct her. It wasn’t until she went into her whole little spiel that I finally had the urge to speak. No, that’s not quite right. I didn’t have the urge to talk, I just wanted to scream bloody murder. It was six words. Just six words left me screaming inside my head.
“Any chance you might be pregnant?”
She glanced between Peg and I, knowing I wouldn’t answer, but just as Peg opened her mouth to speak…
I nodded.
It was one sharp jerk, an almost involuntary movement, but it changed so much.
The acupuncturist rambled on about different parts of my body she wouldn’t touch in case I was pregnant, and I met Peg’s eyes, seeing in them the same fear I was feeling. We were both counting back, trying to pinpoint when and how long.
It was silly. I knew when. I knew exactly when.
The acupuncture had actually helped a little, and I think it might have helped a lot if I hadn’t had such a devastating realization right there in the office. I nodded in agreement to coming back for another appointment, and attempted a noncommittal smile as the lady gave me a list of times she taught yoga at the local YMCA. There was no way I’d go to a public place like that, but it was nice for her to offer.
Peg didn’t say anything about it after we left. It was as if we’d both agreed to ignore it, at least until we wrapped our brains around it.
Two days later, I heard Peg talking in the living room while I lay on my bed. She did that a lot—talked even if I wasn’t in the room. I think sometimes she just got sick and tired of the quiet and had to do something to fill it. It was a feeling I could completely understand. I was sick of the quiet too, but I had no idea how to change it.
My lack of period was a solid indication that I was indeed pregnant, but I didn’t have any other symptoms. I wasn’t sick, or hungry, or peeing all the time. I just hadn’t had a period. For a few hours, I’d tried to pretend that the stress had just messed up my cycle, but I couldn’t let my mind linger on that scenario for long. I’d become a realist sometime between getting married and being abandoned in Ireland, and I knew deep in my gut that I was carrying a child.
Peg’s voice got closer to my bedroom door, and I was startled to hear another voice as she opened it. A familiar voice.
“Yer hair,” he gasped in confusion, looking between his mom and me for an explanation. “What did ye do?”
“I don’t know what to do anymore, Patrick,” Peg said quietly, looking at me in apology. “I know I told ye to wait, and I still think that was the right thing, but… it’s good yer here now.”
She patted him on the back before stepping out of the room and closing the bedroom door quietly behind her.
“I’ve missed ye so much, me love,” he said sweetly, moving toward me only to come to an abrupt stop as my hand flew up between us. I only wanted to stop him so I could get a handle on the emotions battling for supremacy in my brain, but the movement was so sharp it almost looked like I was trying to hit him.
It was so good to see him. He looked great. He was letting his beard grow out and his hair had gotten longer, too. But he barely looked like the man I’d married, and that made me nervous, even though it shouldn’t.
As I was cataloguing all of the changes in his appearance, he seemed to be doing the same thing because I watched as his eyebrows drew down into a frown and he gently reached out to touch my still taped-up fingers.
“What happened to yer hand?” he asked quietly. “What de hell is goin’ on?”
I didn’t answer. Of course I didn’t. Any thought of doing so had been erased with the glaring reminder of my injuries… and the reason for them.
“Answer me,” he said, jamming his hands into his pockets like he didn’t know what to do with them. “Amy? What de fuck?”
I didn’t look away from him as his worry turned to frustration and then anger.
“Mum!” he called, watching me closely. “Get in here, Mum!”
The door opened quickly, and there was Peg, with tears in her eyes.
??
?I thought for sure—”
“What de fuck is goin’ on?” he asked incredulously.
“Ye need to tell him,” she ordered, her eyes full of sympathy. “He deserves to know.”
“What do I deserve to know?”
“I’m pregnant,” I said, the words scratchy and a bit wobbly.
He looked back and forth between Peg and I as if he was trying to gauge our sincerity, and then I watched as the most beautiful little grin spilt his lips. He lifted a hand to run his fingers over his beard, and it was evident that he was trying to keep a handle on his excitement. As much as I loved watching the transformation come over his face, I couldn’t let it continue.
“It’s not yours,” I said flatly.
Peg let out a pained gasp and fled the room, but it took Patrick a little longer to fully comprehend my words.
“What a horrible t’ing to say,” he rasped in disbelief.
I laughed bitterly. “Horrible, yes, but also true.”
“Why would ye—”
“We didn’t have sex after Robbie died,” I cut him off. “I had my period after that.”
He gaped at me for what seemed like forever, and I knew he was trying to come to terms with the information I’d just given him. I saw the exact moment he realized the full extent of my announcement because his face morphed into an expression I’d never seen before.
“If ye were attemptin’ to pay me back,” he said, “Ye could not have done a better job of it.”
I laughed. For the first time in months, I laughed, and I did it so hard that my whole body was shaking and my breath was wheezing in and out of my chest. I was hysterical, unable to curb the noise even as he stared at me in disbelief and disgust.
“Filthy slapper,” he said, his hands coming out of his pockets. He stepped forward menacingly, and my laughter finally cut off in shock as he leaned forward.