Nix’s startled laughter made my lips curve as he slid his shoes off without untying them, then went up the stairs, taking two at a time.
“Yer a good mum,” Patrick said, startling me. “Ye know just what to say to him.”
“Nah, I’m just winging it most of the time.”
“I wasn’t sure what to—”
“I think you should probably go, Patrick,” I said, setting Nix’s shoes on the front porch. “I’m not sure what you’re looking for, but you’re not going to find it here.”
“What are ye sayin’?” he asked cautiously, stepping toward me.
“I’m saying that I can’t do this with you—whatever this is.” I raised my hands palms up. “I have nothing to give you. Nothing. I have a son that’s heartbroken, medical supplies that I have to go through and dispose of, a boyfriend who’s probably wondering where the fuck I’ve been all week, and a yoga studio that won’t run itself, even though it’s been doing a pretty good imitation for the past few months.”
“A boyfriend.”
“Don’t act like you’re surprised, we just talked about this.”
“I didn’t realize it was serious—dat ye would choose him—”
“Are you shitting me right now?” I asked incredulously. “Choose him? Is there a choice? I swear to God, Patrick, you think you can change the past to suit your purposes.”
“It has always been ye,” he said, and I couldn’t take one more word of his distorted reality.
“Get the fuck out of my house,” I said flatly. “Thank you for coming, and for helping with everything this past week. I’m not sure how I would have done it without you. But now—now you need to leave.”
He looked as if I’d just punched him, but he didn’t say another word and I didn’t back down as he gave me a nod. He left me there in the entryway as he strode into the kitchen for his coat, and I was still standing frozen in the same spot when he came back.
“I apologize for takin’ advantage of yer hospitality—” his words were so quiet and almost embarrassed, that I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from reassuring him. “I want ye to know, no matter how much time has passed or how far away ye are, if ye ever need me, all ye have to do is call. I’ll be dere in an instant. I know I’ve not done what I promised all dose years ago, and ye’ve no reason to trust me word, but ye’ve got it, anyway.”
He leaned forward and pressed a scrap of paper into my hand as he kissed my cheek, lingering for just a moment.
“I’ve loved ye for as long as I can remember,” he whispered before pulling away.
I didn’t say anything as he strode out of the house. I couldn’t.
Once again, my voice was stuck in my throat.
It was finally over. There was no longer any reason for us to cross paths again.
And I had no words left.
Nine Years Later
Portland, Oregon
Chapter 49
Amy
“Hold on a second, son,” I mumbled into the phone, setting it down to pull my hair back into a massive bun at the nape of my neck.
My dreads were getting too long again, and I knew I needed to cut them—but the process involved a night in, pot, red wine, and Nix wielding a pair of yard clippers. Hands in my hair was a trigger I’d learned to live with, but over twenty years later, I still wouldn’t allow a pair of scissors in my house or shop.
I was okay with that, even if it meant my hair grew too long on occasion and I had to have my son cut it when I was buzzed out of my mind.
It was funny that when I was a kid I’d so badly wanted to fit in somewhere, and as an adult I stuck out like a sore thumb. I guess that’s life, though. Experiences change you, there’s no way to escape it.
“Are you and Ken coming over tomorrow night for dinner?” I asked, picking the phone back up.
“His name is Mat, Mum.”
“With one T,” I confirmed with a snort.
“You’re such a pain in the ass sometimes.”
“Ditto, kiddo.”
“We’ll be there as long as your house doesn’t stink like incense and pot and you use one of Nan’s recipes.”
“What the hell is wrong with my recipes?”
“They’re disgusting.”
“They’re works in progress,” I grumbled, looking out the door to my office—that was really a utility closet I’d stuffed a desk in—to see how many we had for the ‘Mommy and Me’ class Kali was teaching in ten minutes.
“You’re not a bloody vegetarian!”
“I could be if my son didn’t insist on eating the carcasses of dead animals.”
“You’re nuts.”
“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.” I ignored the twinge those words brought me.
“Hey, I better go. I’ll call you tonight before—” I dropped the phone to my side as I caught sight of a woman walking in the door with her daughter.
She was lovely, with creamy skin and straight strawberry blonde hair, and she was wearing expensive yoga gear that only a woman with too much money and too much time would wear.
A few years ago, when Nix had gotten a job offer from a growing ski and snowboarding company in Portland, I’d packed up and followed him. There was nothing left for me in Texas by then except for the acquaintances I’d met through my old studio, so I’d sold my house and settled down in the Oregon town, even though the thought of being so close to Patrick had made me nervous. I didn’t regret it, either.
I’d opened up my tiny yoga studio on the west side of Portland between an Indian restaurant and a funky thrift store, and while the space was limited, I couldn’t complain about the foot traffic. We were busy from open to close, and last year I’d been able to hire Kali to teach more of the classes so I could work on the business side of the desk.
I had realized quickly that there were two types of people that came into our studio. The first type were serious, mostly crunchy people like myself that came in to do more than just stretch their muscles. They wore beards and sandals and beaded necklaces and they used the same ragged yoga mat for years.
The second type, well, they were my favorite and I also hated them a little. They were the housewives who never carried cash and bitched every time the credit card machine was down because they couldn’t pay for their class without it—even though it had happened to them twice before and they should have remembered that the thing was a bit temperamental. Their hair was always styled to perfection, they wore clothing that cost more than my car, and I’d never seen one with a broken nail. I called the studio’s popularity with those women The Dharma and Greg Effect. It was the idea that those women came in because they wanted their workout to sound sexier than it was. Their rich husbands wanted to be able to mention how their wives could put her feet behind their head, and the wives, well, they just wanted to find the hot new thing before everyone else… and what was hotter than a flexible woman?
The redheaded woman ushering her little girl into the shop was one of the Dharmas. I hadn’t seen her before, but I usually worked from home on Tuesdays when I didn’t have class. I wondered how long she’d been attending.
I didn’t know what it was about her that made me look twice, but I knew it was something. I completely forgot the phone in my hand as I watched her set her stuff down. When she suddenly tilted her head and smiled, it was like being punched in the chest.
It couldn’t be. I didn’t even know if she lived in Portland, or even if she was in Oregon anymore. There was no way she’d walked into my shop.
I watched her for a while longer as Kali started the class, and the more I saw, the more my heart raced. The mannerisms. The head tilt. The way her hair curled into tiny little ringlets at her neck as she began to sweat.
I stumbled back inside my office and closed the door quietly, finally realizing that my phone was still clutched in my hand.
“Nix?”
“Mum? What the hell was that?”
“I’ll call you back.?
?? I hung up the phone and sat heavily in my chair, reaching for the member files in the drawer next to my desk.
I checked for Gallagher first and there was nothing, but I wouldn’t let myself relax. She was what, twenty-five now? Just a few months older than Nix, and plenty old enough to be married. I rubbed my hands over my face and took a deep breath before pulling out every single file for members who had last names that started with A.
I went through the files letter by letter and it took me hours.
And then there she was.
Brenna and Beatrix Richards.
Twenty-five years old, according to her driver’s license.
I stared at it a lot longer than I should have.
Classes were over for the day and the studio was quiet as I stared at the little black and white photo our copy machine had printed out. She was a little blurry, and without the red hair I wouldn’t have been able to pick her out of a lineup. There was nothing about her in that little grainy photo that would have made me look twice, but I had a hard time looking away.
She was the single most influential person in my life, her mere presence on the earth the catalyst of every single thing that had happened to me in the last twenty-five years.
Yet when I stared at her photo, I couldn’t see anything but a beautiful mix of Moira and Patrick.
I dropped the sheet of paper on my desk and sobbed into my hands.
***
I wasn’t proud of myself, really I wasn’t. And I knew that I was acting like a lunatic.
But that didn’t stop me from being in the office the next Tuesday morning when Mommy and Me classes started up. She was there again, with her dark haired little girl, smiling and quiet as the rest of the moms talked over each other.
I followed her that day.
And the next week.
And the week after that.
She always took her daughter to a coffee shop down the block for hot chocolate when they finished class. They’d stay for thirty minutes, while the girl drank her hot chocolate and Brenna drank an unsweetened iced tea. Then they’d walk to the lot on the other side of my studio to pick up their car.
The routine never changed. Not for two whole months.
I knew, because like the incredibly stupid woman I was—I watched them.
Then one day, Brenna brought a laptop to the coffee shop.
I sat behind her, facing the little girl I’d come to know as Trix, and tried to see what she was doing over her shoulder. It didn’t take me long to recognize the website she was on, and I watched avidly as she posted her expensive car for far less than it was worth.
“I need to go potty,” Trix said politely, her voice almost lost in the noise of the shop.
“Just one second, okay, baby?” Brenna answered, her fingers typing over the keyboard.
My initial thought was that her husband was going to be pissed as hell that she was selling her car for way less than she could get on a trade in… but then, it was like my sight widened. She was moving slower that day, almost stiffly, but the way she’d pulled her laptop out of its case and snapped it open had seemed a little jerky. Like she was waiting for someone to walk over and catch her. Her hair was down instead of tied back in the low ponytail she usually wore… and even Trix was quieter than usual.
A knot of dread formed in my stomach as she exited out of the website and went back in to clear her web history.
“Okay, let’s go potty and then we’ll head home,” Brenna said shakily, putting the laptop back in its case and reaching for Trix’s hand.
I watched as they walked toward the bathrooms, then grabbed my bag and left the shop. I was shaking as I pulled out my cell phone.
“Hey, Mum, what’s up?”
“Nix, do you know anything about Patrick’s daughter?” I asked, cringing as I crossed the street to where I was parked.
“Not much, no. Trick said she married some guy with shit-tons of money and moved up here a few years ago. Why?”
“I—” I couldn’t exactly tell him that I’d been stalking the girl for months. “I think she may come into the studio sometimes.” Yeah, like every single week like clockwork.
“Whoa. Small world.”
“Yeah, no kidding.”
“Wait, have you met her before? How did you even notice?”
I climbed into my car and locked the doors, suddenly feeling uncomfortable in my own skin.
“I knew her parents, remember? She looks like them.”
“Damn, you’ve got the memory of an elephant.”
“It’s a curse.”
“Well, I think I’ll probably talk to Trick this week sometime—you want me to mention it?”
“No!” I gulped, shaking my head in annoyance. “Don’t say anything. I don’t know why you even talk to him.”
“You know why,” he reminded me, making me want to slam my head repeatedly into the driver’s door window. “He kept in touch, even when I was a dick to him. I’m not his kid, but he came to every graduation I’ve ever had. I know you guys had a falling out, or whatever the fuck that was—but he’s the only father figure I ever had.”
“I was your father figure,” I replied stubbornly.
“And you were fantastic. But in case you haven’t noticed, you don’t have a dick.”
“Phoenix Robert Gallagher, watch your mouth.”
“Look, all I’m saying—”
“Oh, you’re trying to make a point? I thought you were just trying to annoy me,” I said, pulling out of the parking lot and turning toward my apartment.
“All I’m saying is the guy isn’t all bad. And he still asks how you’re doing after ten years—”
“Nine.”
“Whatever. Nine years. But still—you’re the only one that seems to have an issue here, and I get it. I do. But at some point, you either need to cover up that anchor and get a divorce or forgive the guy for whatever he did.”
I clenched my teeth in anger at his skewed view of the situation, but I didn’t argue. I couldn’t. Because for twenty-five years, I’d never said a word about the way he’d been conceived. He had no idea about the things I’d gone through, or the part Patrick had played in my agony, and if it was up to me, he’d never find out.
“You’re right,” I said through my teeth.
“I am?”
“Yeah. I need to cover this tattoo.”
“Mum, that’s not what I was—”
“I’m almost home, so I’ll call you later…or in a few days. I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Are you angry?”
“Not at all, son. I’m just home, and I need to carry some groceries up to the apartment,” I lied.
“Okay, then. I guess I’ll talk to you later.” I rolled my eyes.
“Love you, too. Bye, kiddo.”
I hung up and sat in my car, my conversation with Nix forgotten as I remembered Brenna’s stiff movements and the weird post she’d put on Craigslist.
I knew I shouldn’t get involved, but as I sat there in the quiet, I realized what exactly had caught my eye when I’d seen Brenna for the first time.
She watched the world with the same haunted look that I’d had for most of my life.
That night on a whim, I posted my old, beaten-up Corolla on the same website and for the same price that Brenna had posted her car hours before.
Chapter 50
Patrick
I knocked on the door in an unconscious rhythm before pulling my hand back and stuffing it into the pocket of my jacket.
I wasn’t wearing my cut. Portland wasn’t our territory and I wasn’t on club business, but I felt odd without it. The leather was so worn by that point that it molded to my chest perfectly, and I’d had it retooled more times than I could count as shit had frayed and ripped. Not wearing it reminded me of the feeling I’d get when I forgot my wallet at home.
“Nix you said seven—”
Amy froze with the door halfway open, and for a second I thought she was going to slam it in my f
ace.
“What are you doing here?” she asked nervously, running her hand over her head even though there were no stray hairs to settle.
“It was ye, wasn’t it?” I asked, my heart in my throat. God, she was so beautiful and it had been so fucking long since I’d seen her. I wanted to reach out and run my hand down her bare arm just so I could feel her soft skin under my fingertips again.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about—”
“I don’t know how ye did it—” I had to stop to clear my throat. “I don’t know how ye knew dat she’d need dat car.”
“Who, Patrick? I’m sorry, I don’t know—”
“Me sweet Brenna,” I looked down at the floor and pulled my hand out of my pocket, so my fingers had room to fidget. “He would have killed her. He almost did.”
“Fuck,” she whispered, bracing her hand against the door.
“I know it was ye.”
“I don’t—”
“T’ank ye.”
“What?”
“I don’t care how ye knew. I don’t care what ye did. T’ank ye.”
“Is she alright?” she finally asked, dropping the pretense.
“He beat de shite out of her,” I choked, raising my hand to my face to try and turn the sob into a cough. “She’s in de hospital now, but she’ll be alright. And she doesn’t ever have to worry about him again.”
She searched my face thoughtfully, then nodded. “He’s visiting the good priest?”
I snorted, and shook my head at her choice of words. “Aye, dey’ve had similar experiences, yeah? Perhaps dey could compare notes.”
“Good,” she replied, her jaw firming.
I had no idea how she’d ended up meeting Brenna outside that grocery store in Stayton. It was too odd to be a coincidence, but I had no idea how she’d pulled it off. The fact was—she had—and she’d given my baby the tool she needed to get away from the sorry bastard she’d married. I would never understand why she’d done it, and I’d never be able to repay her.