Craving Resurrection
Page 57

I had no idea how I’d articulate my thoughts if he had tried to speak with me. I was completely and utterly without words at what we’d just witnessed and it seemed odd to me that the scene had affected me so much. I’d killed. I’d taken other men’s lives, but the sight of one man comforting himself with a blanket before he blew the back of his own head off seemed to have pushed me over the edge.
“It looks like yer mum and Amy are still at de commencement ceremony,” Da said as we parked in front of our small house. “Shall we drive over dere and see if we can catch dem?”
I couldn’t make myself form the words to tell him no. I couldn’t say anything. I couldn’t even move my mouth. I just stared at him blankly.
“Right. Let’s get ye inside den.”
He opened his door and climbed out of the car before leaning back in. “Get out of de fuckin’ car Patrick,” he ordered, knocking me slightly out of my stupor.
I followed him inside and stood by the couch, replaying over and over in my head the way the man had kissed his wife before she left. He’d known. He’d known what he was going to do, but she hadn’t. She’d probably assumed that her husband had to work, or some other excuse he’d given to make her take a trip with three kids on her own. He’d made sure that they were gone, out of the house before we got there, and then he hadn’t waited before taking care of his death himself.
I’d seen many men beg and plead for mercy and promise their own mothers for a chance to live. I’d never before seen the courage I had that morning.
“Let’s go, son,” my da said gently, pushing me into the bedroom, and shoving me slightly onto the bed. “I’ll tell Amy ye weren’t feelin’ well.”
He pulled off my coat and boots, then flipped back the blankets on the bed and motioned me to crawl inside. Once I was there, he covered me slowly then leaned down to kiss my forehead like he had when I was a child.
“Put it out of yer head,” he commanded quietly. “He made his own decisions, and he paid for dem.”
I lay there silently for a long time after he’d gone, breathing in the comforting smell of Amy and trying to marshal my thoughts into some sort of understandable pattern. Then I slid my hand down the side of my leg and began to tap the rhythm that Amy had taught me the month before.
Chapter 29
Amy
Life was a mixture of incredible highs and frightening lows. Since Robbie had moved back in with Peg, Patrick and I were looking for an apartment or a small house of our own. Peg’s house just wasn’t built for four adults, and it felt like we were tripping over each other constantly.
My job at Dillon’s pub was working out well. I was getting more and more hours every week and had been setting aside most of my pay in a coffee can inside our dresser. The only downside was that Peg and I worked pretty much opposite shifts, so I barely got to see her anymore. I couldn’t complain too loudly, though, because Patrick had found mechanic work at a used car dealership and spent most nights after work sitting at the bar to keep me company.
We were living. That was the only way I could explain it. Finally, after months of surviving in that weird limbo, we were finally building a life. It wasn’t what I’d imagined, and I wasn’t sure how the hell we would manage if Patrick got me pregnant like he’d been trying to, but we were finally together and that fact made me practically giddy.
I didn’t ask about Patrick’s other job. He hated it and he’d come home looking like he hadn’t slept for days, even if he’d only been gone for a few hours. It made my stomach burn, and I’d been drinking so much milk to try and soothe the feeling that I had gained at least five pounds. I wanted to help him somehow, to take away the shadows in his eyes and get him at least one full night of sleep—but I couldn’t. There wasn’t anything I could do for him.
Sometimes, he’d walk through the front door and come directly to me, pulling me away from whatever I was doing and taking me straight to bed. Other times, he’d pass right by me on his way through the house, completely silent as he went into our room and shut the door solidly behind him, knowing I would follow. His moods were unpredictable, he barely slept, he carried a gun that I’d never seen before, and he spent most of his time at home glued to my side, even if he wasn’t speaking.
But it wasn’t all bad.
He also brought me flowers home. He brushed out my hair. On rare occasions when we had the house to ourselves, he’d run a bath and tug me in with him. He took me out to dinner, taught me how to play basketball, sat beside me in church and held my hand throughout the service.
He showed me he loved me in a million different ways and I tried to do the same for him. I think we were happy, as happy as we could have been under the circumstances.
***
“Hey, gorgeous, can I get another beer?” The American accent coming out of the stranger’s mouth had a wide smile breaking out across my face.
“Sure!” I chirped back, tossing down the rag I’d been using to wipe off the bar. “What were you drinking?”
“You’re American.” The man leaned over onto his elbows on the bar and smiled back. “What the hell are you doing all the way over here?”
“She goes where her husband is.” Patrick must have seen our interaction, because he’d come up behind the stranger and moved smoothly around him.
The man started to laugh. “That makes sense.” He lifted his hand between them. “I’m Charlie.”