CHAPTER 14
I swiped the back of my sleeve over my cheeks and looked around the diner’s half-empty parking lot. After leaving the rectory, I’d driven around aimlessly, eventually parking down by the town branch of the Nolichucky River, where I sat for an hour or so, letting Wilco sniff his way along the water’s edge while I sat in my car, rehashing the whole scene with Colm. What had I done? Hot embarrassment crawled over me as I thought back to our kiss. Was it all me? Or was it him too? Not that it mattered. There would never be anything between Colm and me. Never again. He’d made his choice.
It felt as if someone had pounded a thousand nails into my heart.
Why am I even here at the diner? Earlier that morning, I’d left the house intent on seeing Meg at some point during the day. I did need to talk to her about Eamon and Sheila. Still, maybe now wasn’t a good time. She was at work, and I should really be home helping Gran prepare for tomorrow’s funeral and spending time with family. But there was Pusser and his eagerness to pin this on a Pavee, and the way he’d focused his sites partially on Meg. “She has motive,” he’d said. Did she? Assuming that Dub’s accusation was true, did Meg know about Eamon and Sheila? Even if she hadn’t before, she probably did now. I thought of all those people gathered around yesterday when Dub spewed his hateful accusations. Poor Meg. I reached for the door handle. I’ll just see how she’s doing.
Inside, the tang of spicy beef kicked my stomach into action. It rolled with hunger. The place was pretty much empty, so I headed straight for the corner booth, noticing Doc Styles sitting alone at one of the tables. I stopped to say hello.
“How’s my patient today?” he asked, scrutinizing Wilco’s front legs.
“Much better. Thanks for getting the medicine to me.”
“No problem. I was in your area anyway.” He gave Wilco a pat. “He’s looking good. I don’t think I saw any limping as you walked in here.”
“No. And we were out in the woods all day yesterday.”
His expression turned somber. “I heard. Terrible thing about that girl.”
Meg approached with a couple of hot plates in her hands. “Hey, Brynn. I didn’t expect you in here today.” She glanced over at Doc’s empty plates. “I’ll get your bill right out,” she told him.
“Then do you have time for a break?” I asked. “There’s something I need to talk to you about.”
She dipped her chin toward the plates. “Sure. Let me get these out and take care of Doctor Styles, then I’ll be right back.” She lowered her voice, her eyes gleaming. “I have something I want to tell you about too.”
I watched her shuffle off, thinking she seemed awfully chipper. Maybe she hadn’t heard about Eamon and Sheila. I said good-bye to the doctor and settled into the booth. A couple minutes later, Meg came back carrying a tray with two cups of coffee, a bowl of chili, and a plain hot dog for Wilco. “Chili’s on the house. The cook overestimated the lunch crowd. There’s a ton left over back there.” She set the tray aside and slid into the vinyl bench across from me. I slipped Wilco the hot dog, wiped the slobber off my hands, and dug into my chili. Meg jabbered about this and that, the conversation moving along pleasantly while I struggled for a way to bring up Eamon.
As it turned out, she brought him up first. “Look what Eamon gave me.” She shoved her hand in front of my face. There was a ring on her finger.
“What the hell’s that?”
She shriveled. “A ring. That’s what I wanted to tell you. Eamon and I are engaged.” She pulled her hand back and scowled. “You don’t like him.” She glared at me. “I knew you didn’t. I picked up on it the other day.”
“I hardly know him.”
“Then what?”
“Haven’t you heard what Dub Costello said?”
She cringed. “I don’t believe none of that.”
“Come on, Meg. He accused Eamon of sleeping with his wife.”
“Eamon says it’s a lie.”
“And you believe him?”
“Of course I do! He told me there was nothing between them. They were acquaintances, that’s all.”
“Dub made it sound like much more.” There was that picture too. The one Doogan found at Dub’s place. It showed Sheila at the Sleep Easy with some man. Eamon? Or was Sheila one of Al’s girls, turning tricks on the side. Maybe trying to earn enough money to leave and get away from Dub?
“Dub’s full of crap. You know that. You’ve always hated him. Why would you take his word over Eamon’s? Over mine?”
“I’m not, it’s just that—” I paused. “Don’t you think you’re rushing things? You’ve gone through a lot. How long has it been since—?”
“A year, Brynn. I’ve been widowed for a year. And I’m lonely. Sick of working this stupid job, waiting hand and foot on a bunch of settled folk. What’s wrong with wanting to be happy?”
“Does Eamon make you happy?”
She looked down and twisted the ring on her finger. “Yes.” But something in her hesitation and expression belied the affirmation. She looked up and met my gaze. “I’m happy, Brynn. Really.”
I sat back, taking a couple bites of chili while she sipped her coffee. I decided to change topics. “Sheriff Pusser considers you a suspect in Sheila’s murder.”
“Me? Why?”
“Don’t be dumb, Meg. The whole love triangle thing. He thinks you found out Sheila was sleeping with your boyfriend and killed her in a fit of jealousy.”
“That’s just ridiculous! How can you even say that?”
“I’m just telling you what’s going through Pusser’s mind.”
“Look, Eamon knew Sheila, but they were just friends, okay?”
“Okay.” Just a few seconds ago, she’d described them as acquaintances, now they were friends. My cousin’s story was changing by the second. I squinted. What’s going on with her? Is she so lonely that she’s willing to settle for anything?
Sensing my doubt, she leaned forward and bit out her words. “He wasn’t screwing her. He gave her one of the kittens from that stray cat’s litter. He said she was lonely, and he thought it would make her happy. That’s all there was to it.”
Yeah. Now they were friends enough that he was giving her things to “make her happy.” “I’m worried about you, Meg.”
“Well, don’t be. You’ve got enough of your own problems to worry about.” She began to stand up.
I reached out and stopped her. “Hey. I’m trying to help you, that’s all.”
She broke my clasp and slammed her palm on the table. Wilco felt the vibration and sprang up under the table. Meg leaned in, tears glistening along the edges of her eyes. “All I wanted was for you to be happy for me. But you can’t do that, can you? You’re a lonely drunk, and you’ll stay that way until you face your own problems and get some help. In the meantime, stay out of my life.”
* * *
Out in the diner’s parking lot, I shut Wilco in on the passenger’s side and walked around my car.
“There you are, bitch.”
I wheeled around. Great, first a fight with Meg and now this jerk. “What the do you want, Al?”
Al glowered as he stepped forward, then jumped back as Wilco pawed at the window, barking his head off. Slobber spewed from my dog’s curled lips and smeared the glass. Al snorted, blocking my way back to the passenger door. “Stupid crippled mutt can’t help you this time.” He stepped closer. The stench of overripe BO and sickeningly sweet marijuana hit my nostrils. “What do I want? I’d like to see all you knackers wiped off the face of the earth, that’s what.”
“Yeah, well, I want a giant lollipop and a free trip to Disney. Ain’t gonna happen.”
His eyes narrowed. “You better—”
“Better what, Al? What’s your problem anyway?” I headed around the front of my car, but he came up right behind me.
“I saw you talking to Drake.”
“So?” I turned to face him as I reached my door.
“You ratted me out. I’m out money because of you, lady.” He’d moved in closer, forcing me just beyond my door, then blocking my way.
I grasped my key but couldn’t reach the lock beyond the bully. “You’re a pimp. You should be in jail. You’re lucky I didn’t call the cops.”
He snatched my arm. “You callin’ the cops on me?” He laughed. “A thievin’ gypsy calling the cops on me?” His eyes bored into mine. “You’re actin’ like you think you’re better than me.”
I tried to shake him off. “Let go!”
His grip tightened. Wilco was ramming his snout against the driver’s side window now, the glass reverberating with his barking.
Al leaned in even closer. “You filthy gypsies don’t belong around here, livin’ like trash out there in your trailers, drinkin’ and whorin’ around. Sleepin’ with your own cousins. And you . . .” His eyes glazed over with hatred. “Threatenin’ me with the cops.”
I’d positioned my key between my fingers, ready to shishkebab his eyeball. His fingertips dug deeper into the flesh of my left arm. One more move, Al, just one, and you’re a blind man.
He went on. “Listen to me. Nobody threatens me. And nobody screws me over and gets by with it. ’Specially not some pikey slut like—”
Crunching of gravel. We both turned. Another car pulled into the lot, and he dropped my arm. But he turned his rheumy eyes back on me, his spittle spraying my face as he said, “Folks don’t want your type here no more. We’re gonna get you out of here one way or the other.”
“We’re not going anywhere.”
“We’ll see.”
He turned and walked to the diner entrance. I watched him, his shoulders hunched, his fists clenched, his gait solid and determined. I’d known guys like him in the Marines. Hot-headed lunatics with something to prove.
I looked down at my white knuckles still clutching my key ring, one metal key end protruding, ready.
Al could be dangerous.
I tightened the grip on my keys. Then again, so could I.
* * *
Al’s threat hung with me on the drive back to Gran’s place. And so did Meg’s words. Pikey, slut. Crippled mutt. Lonely drunk. When did the insults ever stop? It was one thing to confront a settled jerk like Al. Another entirely to be called names by the one relative in my life who had been my steadfast friend. I reached across my seat and patted Wilco. I had only one friend now.
Then there was the heat that lingered from my encounter with Colm. It was as if someone had flipped a switch and turned on a part of me I’d suppressed all these years. I squirmed in my seat. Wilco turned my way, let out a little whine, and pushed his nose against the car door.
We were parked outside Gran’s mobile home watching the buzz of activity: neighbors and friends coming and going with food and flowers. Preparations for tomorrow’s service were in full swing. And more family had arrived: two more of Gran’s siblings from Texas and some relatives on Gramps’ side that I’d never heard of until this week. Some were overnighting at our place, and earlier Gran had asked if I wouldn’t mind giving up my bed, maybe sleeping on the couch or in my vehicle, which I often did anyway, so that Great Aunt Tinnie, who suffered from sciatica, could have my bed. I didn’t mind. My eyes slid toward Doogan’s trailer. But maybe I didn’t need to sleep in my car . . .
There’d be no rejection this time.
All I had to do is knock on the door. Knock and you shall receive. Scripture, something a man of God would say. I laughed at the irony of it all. Colm may not want me, but Doogan did. I’d sensed it a while back. The way he watched me, held my stare just a little too long, stood too close . . . I sat back in the seat and squeezed my eyes shut, imagining what it’d be like. His hands on me, his lips exploring me. Would it be gentle and slow or aggressive? The thought of it made my heart pound in my chest; blood coursed throughout my body. The heat in my belly spread lower, grew hotter . . .
I couldn’t take it any longer.
I slid out of the car. Wilco followed, his head and tail low. He sensed my mood and probably couldn’t decipher the emotions pouring from me. I couldn’t; how could he?
Inside Doogan’s trailer, the air was warm and humid and laced with a clean soapy smell. He’d answered the door with wet hair and a towel draped over bare shoulders. “Brynn?”
We were standing mere inches from each other, and I could feel my chest rise and fall, my breasts pushing against the fabric of my sweatshirt. His gaze travelled from my face to my body and back again. He blinked, his eyes searching mine with uncertainty.
I reached out and brushed a wet strand of hair from his forehead. With the tip of my finger, I traced a line down the side of his face, across his angled jaw to his full lips. He grabbed my hand and pressed it against his mouth, kissing my fingers, then my palm, his gaze holding mine as he captured my other hand and raised both my arms above my head, stepping in closer, forcing me back against the door and pressing his body against mine. He removed my scarf and lifted my chin, and I felt his tongue move along my jawline and under my earlobe. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the heat of his lips as they touched my neck, tender at first, then little nips that grew into stronger, more ravenous kisses. He grabbed my hair, pulled my head back, and took his fill, his lips not differentiating between my good skin and my damaged skin. Rough, calloused hands moved down my back, under my sweatshirt, and roamed freely. Nerves I thought were long ago dead, burned up and shriveled away, sprang to life. I pulled him closer, shifting and maneuvering until our bodies fit together. Maybe I wasn’t what Colm wanted, what most men wanted, but Doogan wanted me.
He broke away, stepped back, and lifted my sweatshirt over my head. I watched as his eyes surveyed my body without a hint of repulsion. My wanting for him grew. His lips found mine again as he gently lifted me and guided me to the floor. The weight of his body on mine felt right, safe and good. I ran my hands along the long lines of his back muscles as our bodies rocked together. His breath hit my skin in hot, rapid spurts, and sensing my need or unable to control his own, his moves became more aggressive, faster and harder.
Then something happened. Whether it was his sudden urgency, or the familiar feel of the floor against my bare back, I don’t know, but I was seventeen again, back in Dub’s trailer, pinned against the floor, screaming and pleading while he forced my legs apart, forced himself into me. And before I could talk my mind out of it, my body tensed. I trembled.
“Brynn?” Doogan pulled back. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
“No. No, please . . .” I tried to pull him back, make myself go back, back where we were just a minute ago, back to when it felt right.
But something had shifted between us. “Are you cold? You’re trembling.” He covered my arms with his and pulled me closer. Then something dawned in his eyes. “You’re scared?” I hesitated, and he pulled back again. Concern or maybe anger flashed in his eyes. “You’re scared of me?”
“No.” Yet the trembling held its grip on my limbs; even my voice quivered with my objection.
He sat up and looked down at me. I felt horribly exposed. I folded my arms and covered myself.
He whispered something in Shelta, heavily brogued, and abruptly stood. I sat up and watched as he retrieved a blanket from the back of a chair. He came back to me, knelt down, and covered me. “Tell me,” he said. “Tell me everything, Brynn.”
And I did. The words and the tears poured from me as I told him about my childhood, my abandonment, my arranged engagement to Dublin, how I refused, and then how one month before my eighteenth birthday, Dublin Costello brutally and mercilessly beat and raped me. How I never thought something like that could happen, here, where I felt safe, surrounded by friends and so close to the family I trusted. And how afterward, Gramps blamed me. Ostracized me. I went on to tell him about the town boy I’d trusted, confided in, gave myself to, and who eventually abandoned me without any explanation. How all this led to my enlistment, and even though scouring desert sands for decomposed bodies seemed undesirable to most, I didn’t mind the work, not really. It was easier to deal with the dead than the living, and it was rewarding to bring answers to families who’d lost someone they loved. How I’d never had the type of answers I needed. My regrets, my fears, my hopes, my dreams . . . they all tumbled out . . . and he listened.
And when I was done, emptied and exhausted, I could barely move, couldn’t think another thought, the numbness in my soul was a deafening roar. I felt Doogan’s solid arms as he lifted me and led me to the back of the trailer, to his bed, where he tucked me into his sheets and held me until I fell asleep.