“Your red hair gives you away.”
Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, and Tess saw Mick, sitting in a chair across the room.
“Don’t you know it’s dangerous to come inside a man’s room in the middle of night?”
She didn’t say anything, but stood with her hands crossed in front of her chest, watching him. He was shirtless and shoeless. A bottle of scotch sat on the table, and he held a half-empty glass in his hand.
“Drinking alone, Mick?”
“I’m not alone: I have my thoughts to keep me company.”
“Are they good company?”
She glided into the room, going as far as the end of the bed.
“They are the devil, straight from the pits of hell.”
He was tense. She could tell by the way he held himself and the way his muscles bunched across the top of his shoulders.
With her eyes grown accustomed to the dark, they watched each other, wary. He was the first to break the silence.
“What brings you here, Tess?”
Not Tess, my girl, she noticed. Merely Tess. Mick Flannigan was in a black mood to match her own. She advanced toward him, slowly.
“Do you want the truth,” she asked, “or do you want me to make up a pretty lie?”
“The truth will do.”
“I’m lonesome, Mick.”
She was standing so close now, her legs were practically touching his knees. His blue eyes looked almost black as he gazed up at her. Then, suddenly, he set his glass aside and held out his arms. She went to him.
He drew her onto his lap and cuddled her close.
“Tess... Tess, my girl,” he whispered into her hair.
She wound one arm around his neck and pressed her face against his chest. Her lips grazed his skin, and he shivered. His arms tightened around her, and she could feel the steady thrum of his heart under her cheek.
“I was standing at my window,” she whispered, “and I thought of the empty years ahead, Mick.” A tear trembled on her lash, then fell softly onto his chest.
“It’s all right. I’m here.”
“But you won’t be. Not always.” He didn’t deny her words, and another tear wet his skin. “Suddenly, Mick, I was lonesome beyond enduring.”
They clung to each other, mute with longing. He smoothed her silky hair, over and over. Then he began to sing, “Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral.”
His rich baritone voice filled the silence. “Hush now, don’t you cry.”
She hugged him tightly, comforted by his arms and the words of The Irish Lullaby. When he finished the first verse, she lifted her face to his.
“That’s beautiful, Mick. Don’t stop.”
He continued singing, swaying a little, rocking her in his embrace. And as they had in years gone by when Mick had held her in his arms, her blues crept back into the shadows, and a gentle sense of peace stole over her.
Her eyelids drooped, and her head nodded. He looked down at her, humming softly as she drifted into sleep.
“Sleep well, my darling,” he whispered. “Sweet dreams.”
Balancing her tenderly, he reached for his harmonica, being careful not to waken her.
Lifting the blues harp to his mouth, he played softly, ever so softly. The haunting notes filled the darkness. “Hush now, don’t you cry,” the harmonica sang into the darkness.
Mick finished that tune and played another. Once he thought of carrying Tess to his bed and tucking her in, but he was too selfish to let her go. She had come to him and climbed into his lap with complete trust. He would hold her and protect her and comfort her until morning came, and then she would awaken slowly, as she always did, and know that he had been there for her all night long.
It was the very least he could do; for tomorrow he would say good-bye.
o0o
Tess felt stiff. She yawned and stretched, and encountered a very solid chest. Her eyes flew open.
“Good morning, Tess, my girl. Did you sleep well?”
Mick was still in his chair and she was still in his lap, exactly as she had been last night. He smiled down at her, but he looked drawn and weary, exactly as a man who had missed a night’s sleep should.
“Is it morning?”
“Almost. I can see a slice of dawn through the curtains.”
“Have I been here all night? Like this?”
“Yes.”
“You held me all night long?”
“Yes.”
She drew a ragged breath. Then she put her hands tenderly on his face, tracing the lines of fatigue she saw there.
“Mick Flannigan, you always were my best friend in the whole wide world.”
“Past tense?”
Her fingers played lightly over his face, lingering longest on his lips.
“Sometimes I think you still are.” She reached up and kissed him. It was a gentle kiss, given with a heart full of gratitude.
He smiled. “Do you feel better this morning, Tess, my girl?”
“Enormously. Tremendously.” Her face was radiant with a smile as she rose from his lap. Her legs were a little stiff, and he caught her arm when she wobbled.
“You’re like a newborn colt.”
She leaned down and nuzzled her cheek against his.
“And you’re like a great warm blanket. Only better.”
He put his arms around her, holding her close for a moment, and then he let her go. She stepped back.
“Mick...” His eyes, bluer than the lakes of Ireland, lifted to meet hers. She held her breath, drowning, drowning and not wanting to come to the surface. Then she wet her lips with the tip of her tongue and gathered her courage to leave. “Thank you for last night.”
“You’re more than welcome. It was my gift to you.”
Your going away gift? she wanted to ask. But she didn’t, for her heart already knew the answer.
“It’s a gift I will treasure. Always.” Long after you’re gone. She lifted her hand in a sassy salute, then turned and started toward the door.
He watched her all the way across the room, then he said, “See you at breakfast.”
With her hand on the doorknob, she turned back to him.
“You must be very tired. Why don’t you sleep and let me handle Casey this morning.”
“No, thank you. There will be plenty of time to sleep.”
After you’re gone, she thought. The blues threatened to swamp her once more, but she pushed them away. She had to be invincible, just a little while longer.
“Then I’ll see you at breakfast.”
She gave a jaunty wave and went out the door.
Mick rubbed his hand over his eyes. His head felt blurred, inside and out. He sat in his chair a while longer with his eyes closed and his head bowed.
“I must be a fool,” he said. Then he lifted his head and rose from his chair. “But a noble one.”
o0o
The three of them spent all morning in Vicksburg, following Casey’s whims. He visited two old men, living down by the riverfront, who, according to Casey, used to know the whereabouts of his son.
Tess and Mick waited for him in the car, and when he came back, he reported that their memories had grown dim with age.
“Perhaps we should hire a private investigator,” Tess said. “Or contact some of the orphanages and welfare agencies in this area.”
Mick turned to the backseat and scrutinized Casey with intense blue eyes.
“Casey, what do you think we should do?”
“A different city we should be going to, I’m thinkin’.” Casey watched Mick closely for resistance, and when he didn’t see any, he continued. “Maybe we should head south... we love traveling together so.”
“Mick,” Tess said, her eyes sparkling, “let’s go to the Gulf Coast.”
Mick couldn’t resist the temptation. He had planned to say goodbye today, but seeing Tess with happiness shining on her face, he decided to stay one more day, only one. And then he’d say goodbye.
And so they headed south, singing their traveling song and laughing.
Tess, sitting on the front seat harmonizing with Mick, didn’t know why she had suggested the Gulf Coast. It held too many memories for them. Was she trying to recapture the past? She knew the past could neither be recaptured nor changed. Perhaps she was only trying to postpone the parting. It was coming—soon. She could feel Mick slipping away from her, already putting distance between them.
o0o
They reached the coast by eight o’clock. The first thing they saw as they drove along Highway 90 between Gulfport and Biloxi was the colorful big top of a carnival. Mick slowed the car, peering into the evening darkness.
“Can you see the name, Tess?”
“Not yet. I can see the lights just up ahead. Wait, Mick! It’s Brinkley Brothers’ Carnival!”
“So it is,” he said, driving on by the big top. All his life he had tried to move forward. Sometimes he had gone sideways and sometimes he hadn’t moved at all, but he didn’t want to move backward. He’d already done enough traveling backward this past weekend to shred his heart to pieces. He didn’t want any more trips into the past.
Tess swiveled her head to study him, but she didn’t say anything. She knew what the carnival had meant to him. It had been more than a shelter, more than a way of life: it had been his home. She reached across the seat and squeezed his hand. He didn’t turn but she could see the corners of his mouth turn up in a smile.
“I’m thinkin’ a carnival would be fun,” Casey said from the backseat. The carnival was also romantic. At least, that’s what Casey thought. And he was about to run out of ideas for romance. Time was running short, and he was getting desperate.
When Mick didn’t stop the car and turn around, Casey tried again.
“When I was a little boy, I always wanted to go to the carnival.”
“Didn’t you ever get to?” Tess asked.
“Alas, my family was too strict. They said it was the devil’s playground.”
“So it was.” Mick chuckled. “And I was one of the devils.”
“You know carnivals?” Casey leaned over the seat.
“I grew up in one. That very carnival, as a matter of fact. Brinkley Brothers’ Carnival.”
“Saints be praised. We’ll be turning back then, going to pay a visit to the folks who gave you your raising, or I’ll be missin’ my guess. And besides that, I’ve been wanting some cotton candy. My mouth is fairly watering for the taste of some pink cotton candy.”
“Your mouth is fairly watering from talking too much,” Mick said, but he was laughing as he turned the car around and headed back to the carnival.
The first thing they did was buy some cotton candy. As Mick stood in the midway with colored lights flashing all around and the voices of hawkers ringing in his ears, he was transported backward to a time when he was twelve years old.
Uncle Arthur was fitting a suit on him, wielding scissors and needle and thread with an expertness born of necessity. “Hold still, Mick. I’ve got to get this right.” Uncle Arthur had cut up an old red polka-dotted shirt he wore sometimes when he subbed for Grady the Clown, and he was trying to fashion a bow tie for Mick.
“Now remember this,” he had said. “Most things in life you can get with a good con. But the things that are really worth having, you have to earn.”
He worked some more on the tie, cutting and measuring until he had made a lopsided but passable tie.
“Now we’re going in there together, Mick, and we’re going to convince Mr. Buzz Brinkley that you can earn your keep here at the carnival and that you won’t be hardly any trouble at all and won’t cost the Brinkley brothers a penny. And then me and you will be a team, hey? We’re going to earn that right to be, hey?”
Mick stood on the midway with Tess and OToole on one side and Casey on the other, hearing the voice from his past.
“Mick.” Tess tugged his hand, bringing him back to the present. “Look, Mick. There’s a fortunetelling booth.” She leaned around and smiled at Casey. “Do you want to have your fortune told?”
“You kids go on and have a good time. OToole and I are going to sit on that bench over there and eat my cotton candy and watch the crowds. Then maybe we’ll take a little stroll down the midway to see all the attractions. We’ll be waiting for you on the bench.”
Having said all that, he strolled off, swinging OToole’s carrying case and whistling.
Mick and Tess stood side by side, watching him go. A large gang of noisy teenagers passed close by, jostling Tess aside so that she fell against Mick. He caught her close to his chest, and they stared at each other, frozen in time, as red and blue and yellow neon lights played over their faces.
“Do you want to know what the future holds for you, Tess, my girl?”
“Do you?”
“I already know mine.” His eyes took on a bleak faraway look.
“You’re leaving, aren’t you, Mick?”
“How did you know?”
“I felt it. You started leaving yesterday, as we walked beside the river.”
“It’s time to be moving on.”
“What about Casey?”
“I’ll find a place for him.”
“No. He can come with me. Back to Chicago.”
“He doesn’t have a son, you know.”
“I suspected as much.”
“He’s just a lonely old man without a family.”
“Then he and I will divide our loneliness so we’re both only half-lonely.”
“Are you lonely, Tess, my girl?”
“Right now I am.” She was bleak, too, but she tossed her head and gave him a bright smile. “It will pass. Someone will come along to fill the void. Who knows? Maybe I’ll marry again.”
Flannigan wanted to roar like a wounded jungle beast. But he had no right.
“Perhaps you will.” He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. “I hope you’ll find happiness the next time around.”
“It’s not happiness I’m looking for, Flannigan. I’m already happy most of the time.”
“What are you looking for?”
“Somebody who can tolerate my wicked ways and stick around for the long haul.”
Flannigan didn’t want to think of another man staying with Tess for the long haul, growing old with her, perhaps having children, eventually dying and being buried by her side or else having their ashes mixed and tossed into a shining river somewhere. But he had no right to voice any objections. He was only an ex-husband, passing through.
“What about you, Flannigan? What are you looking for?”
“I’ll know when I find it.”
They stood holding each other in the midway with the crowd swirling around them.
“Hey, big fella,” a hawker yelled at Flannigan. “Are you going to stand there hugging your girl, or are you going to win her a teddy bear?”
“Win me a teddy bear, Mick. Something to keep me warm at night until I can find another husband.”
Tess stepped back from him, laughing and sparkling for all she was worth. She was determined to be merry and amusing and, above all, indestructible. Mick was leaving, as she had known he would, and this time, she was going to tell him goodbye.
Her heart could break when she got back to Chicago, and she could pour out her anguish in a smoky nightclub, singing the blues. But while she was with Mick Flannigan tonight, she was going to be Tess Jones, the woman with an invincible spirit.
Mick pitched nickels into a bottle and won her a teddy bear. Then he knocked weighted targets off a shelf with a baseball and won her a gold pasteboard crown. They rode the carousel and the Ferris wheel and the trains through the tunnel of love, laughing as they had when they were young and falling in love. When they came to a booth with plastic ducks swimming across fake water, Mick shot them down, one by one, and won her another prize. It was a fake diamond ring.
Yellow neon lights set the glass stone sparkling, and for an instant Tess imagined the ring was real. She glanced up to see a dark, brooding look on Flannigan’s face. That would never do. This time, she was going to be in charge of the goodbyes. She was determined that they remember each other with laughter and not with tears.
“It’s an omen, Mick.” She laughed, and held the ring out to him. “Put it on my finger.”
He slipped the ring on her finger, catching her lighthearted mood.
“Will you marry me, Tess Jones?”
“Only if your name is not Flannigan or Carson or OToole. I’ve tried all of them, and they didn’t last.”
“The name is Canfield, Raiford Canfield.” He gave an exaggerated bow from the waist.
“In that case, Mr. Canfield, I accept.”
He squeezed her hand and stood looking down into her face, wishing they were twenty-four again and starting all over. The intensity of his mood tugged at her, and she struggled against it.
In spite of her valiant efforts, she couldn’t recapture her lighthearted spirit.
“Don’t do this to me, Mick,” she whispered. He leaned closer, his dark hair falling over his forehead. She reached up to smooth it back. “Don’t make this hard.”
He cupped her face with both hands. “I love you, Tess, my girl. I’ll always love you.”
“I know... but not enough to stay.”
He pressed his lips to her forehead. They stood that way for a long time, and then Tess pulled back to look up at him.
“Mick, take me to a motel.”
“Are you sleepy?”
“No. I want to tell you good-bye.”
“Tess...”
She knew he was going to protest. Damn his noble hide, he was going to walk away without so much as a decent kiss.
“Don’t you dare say a single thing, Mick Flannigan. Don’t you dare take this away from me.”
“Take what away from you?”
“The chance to tell you goodbye, dammit.” Her cheeks flamed as her temper flared. “The last time you walked out on me, I didn’t get a chance for so much as a goodbye kiss. For weeks I kept thinking you’d come back. It seemed as if you’d just gone down to the corner grocery store and had somehow lost your way.”
“I’m sorry. So sorry.”
“I don’t want to hear how sorry you are, Flannigan. I just want to tell you goodbye properly this time. And when I’m finished with you, you’ll know I’ve said goodbye forever.”
“Forever sounds so final.”
“It is, Flannigan. Our paths crossed this time by chance, and I’m going to make certain they don’t cross again.”
He didn’t have to ask why: He knew. Saying goodbye was too hard.
“Let’s go.” He took her hand and practically dragged her through the crowd.
As tall as she was, she had to hurry to keep up with him. Casey was waiting for them on the bench, his face fixed in an expectant smile. When he saw them, his smile faded. He had wanted to see two people who had fallen in love all over again, but what he saw was two people who looked as if they were heading into the Battle of Armageddon.
He stood up, leaning a little on his cane. “Did you two enjoy the carnival?”
“Marvelous.”
“Wonderful.”
They both spoke at once, their grim voices sounding as if they were describing germ warfare. Casey’s heart was heavy as he followed them to the car, trotting to keep up.
“I’m guessing my little game’s about over,” he said, but nobody heard him.
They all climbed into the car, Casey sitting in the back with OToole. Of the four of them, only OToole was in a good mood.
The car roared down Highway 90, carrying its four passengers and its black cloud of gloom. Mick stopped at the first motel he saw, a small grouping of adobe cottages set back from the highway among live-oak trees shrouded with Spanish moss.
He made quick work of checking them in and helping settle Casey into his room. When he came out of Casey’s room, Tess had already disappeared into hers. He stalked toward his own door, his thoughts as thunderous as the storms that swept over the Irish Sea.
What was she doing now? Probably plotting her outrageous plans for saying goodbye. She was going to come to his bed, was she? Come to his bed and weave her magic spell around him and then leave forever, was she?
“We’ll see about that, Tess Jones Flannigan Carson OToole.”
He spun around and stormed toward her room. He didn’t even bother knocking.
The first thing he noticed after he’d picked her lock and eased through the door was her gold sequined shoes, one on top of the dresser and one tossed on the bed. The next thing he saw was a collection of silk gowns, spread upon the bed in a bright rainbow of color.
The shower was running, and a cloud of steam came through the bathroom door. Following a trail of feathers and jasmine fragrance, he made his relentless way toward Tess. OToole, who had claimed a red gown for his own, glanced up from his nest of silk, then curled back into a ball and shut his eyes.
Flannigan pulled back the curtain and stepped into the shower.
Tess paused in the act of soaping her chest, and turned around. The soap and the washcloth slid slowly out of her hands.
“My God. Flannigan.” She looked him up and down, starting at the top of his head and ending at his feet. “You’re wearing boots.”
“I always say goodbye with my boots on.”
He caught her around the waist and hauled her into his body. Soap-slick skin collided with wet blue jeans. Her eyes widened.
“You’re crazy.”
“You’re the one who wanted to say goodbye.”
His mouth slammed down on hers in a savage kiss. She struggled against him, beating his back with her fists. He held on to her, kissing her relentlessly. She flailed and clawed his back, at the same time opening her mouth to welcome his ravaging tongue.
“Oh, Flannigan... Flannigan.”
He backed her against the shower wall, bracing his hands on either side of her shoulders. Then he bent down so his mouth was only inches from hers.
“When I’ve finished with you, you’ll know I’ve said goodbye forever.” His voice had dropped to the deep low octave that always signaled trouble. She heard the rattling of sabers, smelled the burning of gunpowder. “Isn’t that what you said, Tess?”
“I said it. I also said I was going to give you a proper goodbye.”
“How proper?” He eased back, and she heard the metallic whisper of his zipper, saw the brief struggle with his wet jeans. Her heart pounded in her chest. “This proper?” he added.
Suddenly he lifted her up, and she was astraddle him with her legs wrapped around his hips and her back against the wall. Thunder met lightning. The clash sent OToole scurrying under the bed.
Love and pain and rage boiled in Flannigan, and he cried out his feelings in a heavy Gaelic tongue. She clung to him, calling his name over and over until it was both litany of praise and blues melody of a breaking heart.
The water cascaded onto them, unheeded. Soap melted and ran in a white puddle down the drain. Flannigan kept his footing by sheer force of will. His clothes were drenched, and Tess’s breasts were pink where his shirt buttons pressed into her tender skin.
The battle raged on and on, and still they couldn’t say good-bye. They devoured each other, hips joined in a dance as old as time and mouths pressed together, open and hungry.
They held on, not wanting to let go, not wanting the loving to end. But finally they could hold back no longer. He shouted her name, and it echoed around the tile walls, a long, drawn-out lament.
She laid her forehead against his shoulder, not knowing whether it was water or tears she dripped over his shirt. He cupped the back of her head, and pressed her close.
They stayed that way for a long while, holding on to each other in silent agony. And finally he let her go. He lowered her gently to her feet. She leaned against the wall for support, waiting and watching.
His eyes looked like blue bottle glass that had been shattered. They never left hers as he rearranged his wet clothes. The only sounds were his labored breathing and the water that continued to fall around them.
Say something! Tess screamed silently.
But he didn’t. He kept looking at her with shattered eyes.
She started to speak. She even opened her mouth, but suddenly she knew there was nothing else to say.
Flannigan watched her awhile longer. Then he reached out one hand and tenderly traced her face, starting at her eyebrows and ending with her lips.
She closed her eyes, memorizing the feel of his hand on her wet skin. Suddenly his touch was gone. She kept her eyes closed, squeezing them tightly to hold back the tears. She heard the rustle of the shower curtain and the squish of water in his boots. Then there was no sound except the rush of water.
And when she opened her eyes, Flannigan was gone. She turned off the water, wrapped herself in a towel, and lay down on her bed, in the middle of her rainbow of silk gowns.
She stared into the darkness for a long, long time. OToole hopped onto the bed and sat beside her shoulder. When she didn’t acknowledge him, he marched across her and burrowed into the red silk.
“Goodbye, Flannigan,” Tess whispered as she turned her face to the dark wall and closed her eyes.