Patrick had somehow brought everything into vivid detail. When I saw something, I wanted to tell him about it. I wanted to discuss the grocer where Peg worked. I wanted to bitch about the priest at my school who had a perpetual scowl on his face. I wanted to pull him out into the rain and jump in puddles with him just to see him laugh. I wanted to discuss books, and politics, and the way my fingers ached when it was cold outside.
I’d just flat out missed him.
“Hey.” My eyes opened and I cleared my scratchy throat as I took him in. He was wearing a sweatshirt and jeans, his hair hidden under a knitted cap that I knew Peg had made him two Christmases ago. He looked like some sort of thug, with the hat pulled down low and his face scruffy… and he’d never been so appealing.
“Ye look like shite.” Okay, maybe not that appealing.
“Thanks, dick.” I closed my eyes and tried in vain to pull the blankets farther up my shoulders. “You can go away now.”
“Ach, don’t be like dat.”
“Well, you look like a criminal,” I grumbled.
Nice comeback, Amy. Fantastic. Really.
He burst out laughing, and I couldn’t help but follow, pushing my face into my pillow. His laugh was deeper than his regular voice, thick and guttural, like it had come from deep in his belly, and the noise was infectious.
“Up and out,” he ordered as his laughter drifted away. “Ye smell, and yer hair is…”
My face burned as his words trailed off. I knew what I looked like. Shit—just like he’d said. But I hadn’t been able to find it in me to care until I woke up with him next to me. Suddenly, my refusal to get out of bed seemed silly and immature.
I didn’t say a word as I pushed the blankets down and climbed out of bed, ignoring his sharp intake of breath. I’d worn very little to bed—just a tank top and some underwear—and even though I was sure I looked and smelled really gross, I was still baring a lot of skin.
My shower took a while. I hadn’t shaved my legs in over a week and… oh, shit, my armpits! I hadn’t raised my arms, had I? Gross. I had a hell of a time getting the knots out of my long hair and I also brushed my teeth. Twice. God knows I needed it. The entire time I wondered what he was doing there, in my house. It had been a little over a week since my birthday, and from his letters I knew he had tests at school that he couldn’t miss. Was he done with them already? My school only had a few months left until graduation, and my stomach cramped at the thought.
What the hell was I going to do?
When I got back to my room in a warm flannel and jeans, Patrick had stripped my bed. The laundry was wrapped into a ball, and he was sitting on the bare mattress, leaning over with his elbows on his knees and his head tipped toward the floor.
“All clean,” I announced quietly, grabbing his attention. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
“Ye’ve dark circles under yer eyes, and I’ve just found ye sleepin’ like de dead at eleven in de mornin’,” he said, ignoring my question. “What’s goin’ on, Amy?”
“Nothing.” My reply was too fast—too sharp and definitive to pass as anything but a lie.
He searched my eyes for a long moment, then his gaze traveled down my body slowly before meeting mine again. “Mum’s worried about ye.”
“I—”
“Called me dis mornin’, full o’tears, tellin’ me dere’s somet’in’ wrong wit’ ye,” his mouth firmed into a straight line as he looked away from me. “Den I get here and yer sleepin’ like de dead in de middle of t’day.” He stood and I took an involuntary step backward. I’d forgotten how much bigger he was than me, and while it didn’t frighten me, it did make me incredibly aware of the small size of my room. “I can see dat dere’s somet’in’ goin’ on, yeah? I can tell by lookin’ at ye. So why don’t we cut t’rough de bullshite, and ye just tell me already before I lose me fuckin’ mind.”
My jaw dropped as I realized how wound up he was. His hands were flexing at his sides, and his head was tilted in question as he stared me down. I could even see his chest rising and falling hard beneath his sweatshirt, almost as if he’d been running.
The words came tumbling out of my mouth without thought.
“I’m eighteen. My parents are moving. Back to the states, I think. I’m not sure and they haven’t told me. But they said I can’t go with them. Well, they didn’t say that exactly, it was more along the lines of, ‘You’re an adult now and can pay your own way, so we’re moving.’ They didn’t specifically kick me out. They said I could stay in this house if I wanted, but I can’t pay the rent and I don’t have a job and I still have a couple months of school left and I don’t know what I’m going to do.” Actually saying the words aloud brought such a relief that I said the last sentence in one long wail, my words rolling over each other, and by the time I was finished, I could feel a sob bubbling up my throat. “Why would they do this?”
He didn’t say a word as he stepped in against me, and before I could take another breath, he slid one hand around my waist and the other under my ass, boosting me up until I was wrapped around him. I buried my face in his neck as he began to walk through the house, talking quietly and kissing my temple.
“Dis is what has ye sleepin’ t’day away? Shhh, now. Shhh, we can fix dis.”
I’m not sure if he even shut the front door as we left, his long legs eating up the distance between my house and Peg’s quickly. It was abnormally quiet as we entered, and I remembered that Peg was at work for a few more hours, but I didn’t say a word as he rounded the couch and sat down heavily. His hand was rubbing up and down my back in long, sweeping motions, and I didn’t fight him as he grabbed first one leg and then the other from around his waist and bent them at his sides so I was straddling his thighs. I was more comfortable that way, the position feeling anything but sexual as I burrowed even deeper into the front of his sweatshirt.
I was comforted in a way that I had never been before. The relief in telling someone that I’d soon be homeless made the situation seem less in some way, as if just the telling had made things less scary.
My body grew lax as he silently rubbed my back and the exhaustion that seemed to be my constant companion over the last week seeped even deeper into my pores. I wasn’t sure how he thought he could fix things. I’d looked at the problem from a hundred different angles and found no solution…but his confidence was a soothing balm on my nerves, all the same.
As I drifted off with my face still pressed against his neck, I was overwhelmed with gratefulness that he was there. I also realized foggily that he smelled a little like Exclamation! perfume.
Chapter 14
Amy
“Dey’ve kicked her out of de fuckin’ house, Mum.”
“Is that the problem then?”
“She started cryin’ straight off when I asked her about it.”
“Ach. She knows she can stay here.”
“Obviously not, since de poor girl has not even been gettin’ out of bed she’s so worried.”
Their voices were low, but I still heard every word after Peg came bustling into the house after work. I was still in Patrick’s lap, and my legs were cramping from being in the same position for so long, but I didn’t want to move. He hadn’t realized that I was awake yet, and I was enjoying the feeling of one of his hands in my hair and the other resting low on my back.
“Well, it looks like she’s gotten a bit of rest now.”
“She was until ye came bangin’ in de door.”
I jolted at his words and laughed a little at being caught. His hand slid out of my hair so I could lean back, and when I opened my eyes the only thing I could see was Peg’s face.
Her jaw was set in a stubborn line, and her hands were on her hips as she stared at me.
“We’ll pack yer things and move ye tonight,” she announced with a nod. “I’ll not hear another word about it.”
She stomped off toward her bedroom as Patrick began to laugh beneath me, and I froze as his body jolted with his chuck
les. He was rubbing against me in all the ways I’d ignored when we’d dropped to the couch hours earlier.
“Well, that was…” I wasn’t even sure what to say. My bewilderment must have shown on my face because he suddenly stopped laughing.
“Did I not tell ye I’d fix it?” he asked calmly, laying his palm against my cheek.
“But why would she—”
“If ye’ve not noticed, me mum’s adopted ye. Nuttin’ for it now. Yer stuck.”
“But I can’t pay rent, I can’t even buy a toothbrush—”
“Ye won’t pay rent.”
I jerked my body away from him and stood, running my fingers down my ponytail. I couldn’t just live there without paying anything. It made my stomach ache to even think of taking advantage like that. Peg got along okay, but she wasn’t exactly rolling in it. Feeding another person would be a strain on what little money she had left over every week.
“I can see de wheels turnin’ in yer head. Stop.” He rose to his feet so he was looking down into my face. “We’ll straighten it all out later.”
Then he turned his head toward the bedroom and called out to his mom. “We need boxes!”
“We’ve got some at the store.” She replied as she came back out, then glanced down at my feet. “Ye’ll need some shoes.”
Before I knew it, we were in Peg’s small car and on our way to the grocer, where we picked up enough produce boxes to pack my entire room. With the boxes piled next to me in the back seat, we drove back to my house. Packing up my few childhood mementos and books with the help of two other people was surreal.
I’d done my own packing for years as we’d moved from one place to another. My parents had always provided what I needed, boxes and packing tape and newspaper to wrap things in, but it had been handed over with the understanding that I’d do the work myself. We always rented places that were already furnished, so there was no bed or dressers to deal with, and the packing went fairly quickly. Soon the room was once again as bare as the moment I’d first stepped inside it.
Peg left to cook dinner and throw my bedding in the wash, and I was sitting on my bed waiting for Patrick to come help me with the last couple of boxes when I heard my mother’s shrill voice in the hallway.
“Who the hell are you?”
I didn’t hear Patrick’s reply, but his thudding steps never faltered as he made his way back into my room.
“Are ye ready, love?” he asked as he stepped through the doorway, my mother close on his heels.
“Amy?” My mom’s voice was incredulous as she looked around the room. “What in the world?”
“We’ve only got these two boxes left,” I told her quietly, my throat tight in apprehension. “I can come back and clean the floors and window tomorrow.”
“No, ye won’t,” Patrick chimed in with a glower.
“What do you mean? What are you doing?” my mom asked.
I stared at her in confusion as she stepped into the room. “You said I only had two weeks, so I’m…” I flapped my hands in the air, unsure how to phrase my sentence in a way that wouldn’t set her off.
“You’re moving out?” she asked accusingly, her eyes darting between me and Patrick.
“Christ, woman! What did ye expect when ye kicked her out?” Patrick yelled.
“I did no such thing!”
My eyes watered as I stared at my mother and tried to comprehend what was happening. She had. She had kicked me out. She and my dad told me that I needed somewhere else to live. Why was she acting like I was the guilty party? Did Patrick believe her?
“Let’s go, love.” Patrick said quietly, lifting his chin toward the last box on my bed.
“Amy Jennifer Henderson, you’re not going anywhere!” Mom hissed at me, taking another step into the room. “Put that box down!”
I began to shake, the tone of her voice making me question my interpretation of the events of the last two weeks. It wasn’t as if my parents had mentioned once in passing that I needed to find somewhere else to live. They’d reminded me every day that the clock was ticking, so why was she behaving as if she had no idea what I was talking about?
“Go, Amy.” Patrick ordered again, jolting me out of my anxiety-induced stupor. I took two steps forward, stopping abruptly when my mother’s nails dug into my bicep.
She opened her mouth to speak, but she didn’t get a word out before Patrick was there, dropping the box he’d been holding and gripping my mom’s wrist so tight his knuckles went white.
“Don’t touch her again.”
She let go instantly, her eyes wide as she stumbled back into the hallway and I was frozen in place as I watched her cradle her injured wrist to her chest. The situation was deteriorating so quickly, I didn’t know what to do. I wanted to comfort her, but she was staring at me as if she hated me even as her eyes began to fill with tears.
Suddenly, Patrick’s hand was firm against the small of my back, and he was ushering me down the hall.
“Your father will come get you!” she yelled to our backs. “Just wait until I tell him what you’ve done, you little whore! Get back here, Amy!” Mom screamed, completely livid as we continued through the house. Thankfully, Patrick’s presence at my side stopped her from following me, because I wasn’t sure what she would have done otherwise.
I felt the tears roll down my cheeks as we hit the cold air outside, and I couldn’t help the shudder that ran through my body. Threats of my father’s wrath had been something I’d cowered from for most of my life, and it hadn’t magically stopped just because I’d be sleeping somewhere else that night. She’d been so horrible, and I didn’t understand it. I was doing what she wanted! I’d done everything she’d told me to, and she treated me as if I’d wronged her in some way.
“She told me I had to move,” I said, glancing up at Patrick’s furious face. “I swear—they told me I only had two more weeks.”
“I knew she was lyin’,” he replied, giving me a reassuring nod. “She’s just mad dat she didn’t have de satisfaction of bootin’ ye into de street.”
My breath stopped at his observation, her actions suddenly so transparent, it caused an ache in my chest. How could someone be that vindictive, I wondered, to be angry that they weren’t able to kick their child out with nowhere to go? Had she been expecting me to beg them to let me stay? I’d foiled whatever scenario they’d been envisioning, that was why she’d been so mad. It only made her threats about my father coming for me more frightening.
Peg was bustling around in the kitchen when we walked in the door, and she didn’t notice us as Patrick pulled the box out of my arms and set it on the couch.
“Ye don’t ever have to go back dere,” he promised, pulling me into his arms.
“They’re my family,” I reminded him quietly. For better or worse.
“Ye’ve got a new one.” His voice was resolute and a little bit raw, and as soon as he’d finished speaking he dropped his lips to mine, and kissed me hard. “I’ll bring yer boxes into de bedroom.”
Then he walked away, leaving me reeling.
It was all happening so fast that I couldn’t settle on one emotion before another popped up and clouded my head. I was grateful, so overwhelmingly grateful that Peg was going to let me stay with her… but I was confused and scared, too.
Even though I’d gotten little from my parents over the years in the way of stability, they were still my parents. They’d still raised me from childhood and kept a roof over my head and food in my belly. I’d imagined finding somewhere to live and still being able to have some sort of contact with them, some kind of safety net—but my mom’s reaction to my departure was a clear indication that any relationship was gone. They didn’t want me.
I’d known Peg for only a few months, and though she’d never given me reason to doubt her, I still knew in the back of my head that she could throw me out at any time and I’d be homeless in an unfamiliar country. If my parents—the two people that should have loved me more than anything else
—didn’t want me around, why would Peg be any different?
Chapter 15
Amy
“Amy, yer goin’ to be late!” Patrick yelled through the bathroom door as I smoothed my uniform over my hips.
It was my first day back to school since I’d moved to Peg’s, and for some reason I was nervous. Peg had contacted the school to let them know that I was living with her in case my parents tried to cause problems, and I knew she was doing what she thought best, but the thought of everyone knowing my parents had kicked me out made me feel like I was going to be sick. God only knew what sort of stories people would make up about my living arrangements.
“I’m ready,” I mumbled, brushing past him to get my bag.
“Don’t ye look sweet and innocent.”
“Shut up.”
“Such a good little girl, on her way to school right on time.”
“Shut up, Patrick!”
“How many times have I asked ye to call me Trick? I hope ye listen better in class den ye do out of it.” His voice was teasing, and I knew what he was doing, but I still let him get to me.
“Sorry, Paddy,” I replied, opening the door and sailing through it before he could reply.
“Ugh, don’t call me dat.” He called, locking the door behind us before jogging to catch up to me. “Dat’s not me name.”
His voice was so disgusted, I had to laugh. “Why Trick?”
“Because it’s not Paddy.”
“You’re nuts.”
“I t’ought it was cool, okay?” Patrick replied sheepishly. “When I was about eleven, I t’ought it was de absolute best nickname in de world and I refused to answer to anyt’in' else for a year.”