My phone in my purse rang and I quickly dug it out, hoping it was Mickey.
It wasn’t.
It was Boston Stone.
I let it go to voicemail and made a decision I wasn’t sure was mine to make. I was pretty sure Mickey and I were starting something and because of that, I wasn’t sure what I intended to do was the right thing.
Still, I shoved my now-silent phone into the back pocket of my jeans and went to Mickey’s house.
It seemed quiet and standing at the front door I reconsidered ringing the bell.
Then my hand decided for me, lifted and rang the bell.
God, I hoped I was doing the right thing.
The door was opened by Aisling.
“Hey, blossom,” I greeted.
She tipped her head to the side and greeted back quietly, “Hey, Amy.”
“You doing okay?” I asked.
“I’m good,” she answered too quickly.
Lying.
I let that go and just nodded, asking, “Your dad home?”
She shook her head and replied, “No, he’s working.”
“Your brother home?” I went on.
Her answer to that was to step out of the door.
I took this as my invitation to walk in, so I did.
She shut the door behind me and mumbled, “He’s in the family room.”
“Okay, sweets,” I mumbled back and moved that way.
I found Cillian lounged on the couch, eyes to the TV, the evidence of an unhealthy feeding frenzy littered around him, including a melting tub of ice cream on the coffee table that was not on a magazine or a mat or anything.
The mother inside me screamed but my mouth didn’t.
“Hey, kiddo,” I greeted, going to the side of the sectional and shifting a hip to rest on the back so I could catch his eyes.
He didn’t give them to me.
“Hey,” he muttered, not taking his gaze from the TV.
“I came home, checked my mail, didn’t get a wish list,” I remarked.
He didn’t say anything.
I was used to that, just not from Cillian.
“Got an afternoon free to go shopping,” I tried again.
“Don’t want anything,” he kept muttering.
I looked up and saw Aisling hanging close to the mouth of the hall.
She shrugged but she looked upset.
I sighed, looked around and saw no cake remains splattered everywhere, but I did see the bar had a profuse gathering of unwrapped birthday presents.
My gaze slid to Aisling. She caught it and shrugged again.
I turned my attention back to Cillian.
“So I guess it’s clothes,” I announced, knowing no twelve-year-old boy wanted clothes.
“Don’t want anything,” he repeated, still not taking his eyes from the TV.
“No kid I know and like turns twelve without me buying him something. It’s a rule. I have it written in blood on a contract in my wall safe,” I somewhat lied, since I didn’t have any such contract.
Or a wall safe.
Cillian didn’t respond.
“Underwear,” I declared. “With animals on it.”
I watched Cillian’s nose scrunch.
Finally.
“Not something Combat Raptor,” I said, not knowing because Auden was beyond that kind of thing, but thinking that was all the rage.
“I’m not seven,” Cillian noted disgustedly.
Okay, that was out.
“A new Frisbee,” I pushed.
“Got five of them,” Cillian told the TV.
“So, clothes,” I concluded.
“He likes paintball,” Aisling offered and I looked to her.
“No way,” I stated. “That’s dangerous.”
“Not if you have eye gear,” Cillian mumbled.
Paintball eye gear.
Check.
“Those pellets can hit more than your eyes,” I told him.
“Won’t hurt, you got a helmet, or a vest, gloves, or pants,” he told me.
Helmet.
Vest.
Gloves.
Pants.
Check.
“So it is clothes,” I teased.
“Whatever,” Cillian muttered.
“There you go. I have my mission,” I announced, straightening away from the couch. “Could wait to ask your dad if someone might want to go with me,” I offered that thinly veiled suggestion.
Cillian didn’t reply and that hurt. He was usually so talkative, enthusiastic, energetic.
Now he was slobbing out in front of the TV, sullen and crabby.
My children could be that way and they’d never had a mom or dad that did anything but love them, support them, give them all they needed and a good deal of what they wanted. Conrad and I might have behaved badly, they might have seen it, but we’d never missed anything important or made them feel unimportant.
Heck, I even went to all Auden’s wrestling matches and I disliked wrestling.
I knew two kids who needed a reality check.
I also knew that someone needed to find Rhiannon Donovan and shake some sense into her.
Since that could not be me, I could only find paintball gear.
Therefore I was going to do that.
“Okay, I’m off,” I declared and started Aisling’s way. “See you later, kiddos.”
Cillian didn’t say anything.
Aisling followed me to the door.
I stopped at it and asked quietly, “Do you know his sizes?”
She nodded and gave them to me.
I looked down the hall then to her. “Did his dad get him any of that stuff?”
“Dad faked him out with a bunch of new clothes for school. The new Xbox that’s really his present is still in Dad’s closet.”
That was cute and sweet.
“Right, blossom.” I tipped my head to the side. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah, I’m good,” she again answered too quickly.
“You ever wanna talk, I’m across the street,” I invited.
“Okay, Amy,” she said in a way I knew she’d never take me up on that.
I didn’t push it. Maybe one day I’d have a chance, and looking at her pretty face, I hoped that day would come.
I just said, “Okay, Aisling.”
I opened the door and was through it when she called, “Amy.”
I turned to her. “Yes, honey?”
“Are you…is that…?” Her eyes slid away then to my house where she kept them as she finished, “That Bradley guy you were with seemed nice.”
“I broke up with him last night, Ash.”
Her gaze cut to me.
I shrugged, going for casually. “We just didn’t click.”
“Sorry,” she mumbled.
“Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t,” I told her quietly.
“Yeah.”
She wanted me with her dad.
I liked that. It felt nice.
And it was scary.
“I’m going out paintball gear shopping,” I told her. “I’ll see you later?”
She nodded.
“’Bye, sweets.”
“’Bye, Amy.”
I turned and walked to my house. When I got there, I went to my laptop and looked up where I could find paintball gear. The closest place was at a shop in a bigger town that was forty-five minutes away.
I headed there, stocked up with everything the clerks told me any paintball aficionado would need or even want and stopped by a Target on the way home to get a card and gift wrapping.
When I got home, I wrapped the gifts and took them over, handing them off to Aisling but not bothering Cillian again.
She gave me a small grin and thanked me.
I gave her a big smile and went home.
Through this, Boston Stone called again.
But Mickey did not call me.
* * * * *
It was late and I was on a stool at my bar with a glass
of wine and my laptop.
And Mickey still had not called me.
It was a struggle. It made me feel selfish to an extreme. I had no idea what effort you had to put into dealing with kids who were dealing with the ugly fact their mother was an alcoholic, but I suspected that took a lot of effort.
It still hurt that after all that had happened, after that kiss, Mickey hadn’t found time in his day even to text me.
I sent an update, how’s-it-going email to my parents, who had not replied or phoned since my last email, but I couldn’t let that bother me.
It was what it was. They were who they were. I couldn’t change them and I wasn’t going to allow them to change me. Not anymore.
So whatever would be with that would just have to be.
I was trolling Internet sites, trying to get a lock on or even an idea of the perfect dining room table when my phone sounded.
I snatched it up then pulled up the texts excitedly to read an out of the blue text from my son.
Heads up, Pip tried out for the cheerleading squad. She didn’t make it. She isn’t happy.
I was elated to have news about my kids. I was beside myself my son had shared this with me without anything from me prompting him to do so.
I was upset at the news.
I didn’t know much about my children but I knew Pip had been living to be a freshman cheerleader. I also knew, having her heart set on that, she’d worked at it and she liked to get what she wanted.
Not getting it, she’d be devastated.
I texted back, Thanks for the heads up, kid.
Then I went to an online flower site and ordered a bouquet to be sent to my daughter the next day that had a card that said, You’re awesome. Love you. Mom.
It was all I could do, but even though it wouldn’t help much, my baby girl loved flowers so I hoped it’d do something.
I was putting away my credit card when my phone rang.
Hoping it was Mickey, I snatched it up.
It wasn’t Mickey. It was Robin.
Vying for best call I could get that day, I’d take that and I did.
“Hey, gorgeous,” I answered.
“You have five minutes to give me ten reasons not to cut you out completely when you blew me off almost completely,” she replied.
I drew in a breath.
Then I took far more than five minutes and gave her all I could give her. Everything about me; all my epiphanies, all I was thinking, maybe being an idiot about our friendship, Mom and Dad, Lawr, Conrad, the kids, Martine, Josie and her brood, Alyssa and her brood, Aisling, Cillian, Boston Stone, Bradley…and Mickey.
I’d drained my wine and topped it up through all this talking.
And when I was done, the wine doing nothing, I was tense at her response, which was a shocking, “You got highlights without me?”
“Er…yes,” I replied hesitantly.
There was silence.
“Robin—” I began.
She interrupted me, “Girl, if you were ready to move on, I could be the bestie who moved on with you. I can do havoc. I can also not.”
“I know, but—”
“But whatever,” she cut me off. “I understand where you’re coming from but you knew me before both our lives imploded. You knew you’d get anything from me that you needed.”
She was right.
And I was an idiot.
“I’m sorry, Robin, I was just…I guess in all the rights I was trying to make, I made some wrongs.”
“Uh, yeah you did,” she agreed and I tensed again but found I did it for no reason when she continued, “But whatever. You’re moving on. You got a hottie next door who’s a good kisser and he kisses you. Your kids are finally pulling their heads out of their asses. And I got huge news for you.”
I couldn’t quite believe it because there it was. That was it. I explained, Robin listened and that was done.
Though I should have believed it.
She was right. She wasn’t all about retribution and mayhem.
She was mostly about friendship and loyalty and that started but didn’t stop when the retribution and mayhem began.
In protecting myself I’d overprotected myself.
And once I’d figured that out and admitted it, Robin, being Robin, let that be.
I decided to do the same, settled in, grabbed my wine and before taking a sip, asked, “And that is?”
“I’m moving on too.”
I nearly choked on my wine, accomplished not doing this, and sputtered, “I’m sorry?”
“Get this,” she demanded. “That Pilates instructor my ex-ass left me for left him for a Pilates instructor too. And that instructor is a she.”
I felt my eyes get huge right before I burst out laughing.
“No,” I forced through my laughter.
“Yes,” she said gleefully. “My ex-ass drove his tight body bitch right into the arms of a tight bodied bitch. Isn’t that fabulous?”
“It so is,” I agreed.
“Everyone is talking about it. He’s so humiliated he’s taken leave and is hiding at my ex-house on Coronado.”
“That’s brilliant, Robin,” I told her.
“I know,” she replied. “And I got more.” Her voice changed when she said, “But this might not be so brilliant.”
Oh no.
“What?” I asked cautiously.
“It’s not about me, sweetie,” she said.
My neck got tight. “Your kids?”
“No,” she said quickly. There was a long hesitation before she went on, “You.”
I felt my brows come together. “Me?”
“You’re over him?” she queried softly.
Oh no.
“Yes,” I answered carefully.
“Okay, then, this shouldn’t hurt as much as it would have.”
Oh God!
“Robin, what?” I demanded.
“Had lunch with Helena,” she stated quickly. “She told me her hubs went to a conference. At that conference were some neuros who worked with Conrad in Kentucky. They got to talking and Helena’s Ron mentioned Conrad and Martine and you and that Conrad and Martine moved to Maine. Since these guys worked with Conrad, at this news, they shared that his practice had been warned because Conrad was fucking every nurse in the hospital, leaving them high and dry. One got pissed and filed a sexual harassment suit and that’s why you guys got your asses back to La Jolla.”
I sat on my stool, wineglass in my hand, elbow to the counter, unmoving.
He’d said it was a better opportunity.
He’d said it was more money (and it was).
He’d said not one thing about a sexual harassment suit.
“Worse,” she continued quietly. “They said that happened in Boston too and that’s why you guys went to Kentucky.”
I remained immobile and stared unseeing at the wine bottle.
“I know this seems bad but let’s look at the bright side,” Robin suggested. “If you want to get your kids back, you can dig these bitches up and—”
“Oh, I’ll be digging these bitches up,” I declared.
“What? Really?” she asked.
I had not fought for my kids. I thought I did. I had a good attorney. He cost a fortune. He was a shark, like my brother. My brother was sweet to me. He loved his kids. He loved my kids. But in a courtroom, he was a ferocious lion that showed no mercy.
In fact, Lawr had recommended my attorney.
But I had not let him loose. I didn’t want it to get ugly. I didn’t want my kids to go through that.
But really, I didn’t want me to go through it. I was too mired in pettiness that got me nowhere to involve myself in the real fight that would have been a far better use of my energy.
“I’m making headway with the kids. If that continues, I’ll want them more. If they want the same and Conrad doesn’t agree with that, then I’m going to parade these women in front of a judge and in front of Martine and obliterate him,” I decreed.
 
; “You go, girl,” she returned gleefully.
I was going to go.
God, he’d not cheated on me.
He’d screwed everything in three states while married to me!
How had I been so wrong about him?
Before I could ask that of Robin, my head snapped around because a loud knock sounded at the door.
The outside light was on and Mickey’s frame was shadowed in the stained glass.
He was here.
My belly flipped.
“Oh God, Mickey’s here,” I breathed to Robin.
“Fabulous,” she didn’t breathe back.
The knock sounded again. Actually, it was banging.
Why was he banging and not using the bell?
“I need to go get that,” I said to Robin, slipping off the stool and putting my glass down.
“You so do,” she agreed.
“I’ll call you soon.”
“You better, and just saying, you ever try to blow me off again without telling me what’s on your mind, you won’t win me back so easy.”
I absolutely knew that to be true.
I moved to the door quickly and said, “I wish I could tell you how happy I am you made this time easy, but Mickey’s here.”
“Hot guy at your door. Every woman knows that takes precedence over pretty much everything. But I’ll expect a report. Soon,” she told me.
I unlocked the door saying, “You’ll get it. ’Bye, honey.”
“’Bye, sweetie.”
We disconnected as I opened the door and looked up.
My “hey” froze on my lips at the look on Mickey’s face.
Oh no, what did Rhiannon do now?
I moved back when he pushed in but I closed the door and turned to him to see he’d stopped four feet away and was facing me.
“Everything okay?” I asked tentatively.
“Oh yeah,” he replied, for some reason sarcastically. “My son is all good now, seein’ as he’s got an Xbox and about five hundred fuckin’ dollars’ worth of paintball shit.”
I stared at him, mystified as to why this was what it was obvious he thought was a bad thing.
“Is that bad?” I asked when he didn’t continue.
“Fuck no,” he answered, crossing his arms on his chest. “It isn’t, seein’ as it reminded me why this shit isn’t going to work.”
On his “this shit” he threw a hand my way and then crossed it back on his chest.
And when he did that, my insides squeezed.