Soaring(129)

“Is she…does she have moods?” I pressed carefully.

“If you mean, has she started her period? Then yes,” he told me. “That happened last summer. Her mom took care of that. She comes home with boxes of shit Rhiannon gets her. I saw Midol on her dresser, made sure there was more in the bathroom. Didn’t have any sisters but did have a wife for fourteen years, so I got a clue when those kinds of moods strike. Ash gets ’em. This is not one of those.”

“I’m not sure I’m at that place where it’s okay for me to talk to her,” I noted.

“I hear you,” he muttered.

“But we can keep an eye on the situation and if she doesn’t open up to you, regardless if I’m at that place, if you want me to, I’ll go in.”

His arm tightened around me, tucking me closer. “That’d be good.”

He wanted me to.

That made me snuggle even closer.

I did that and took a sip of my wine before I asked, “Do you think they know what’s happening with you and me?”

“On the deck havin’ a drink with you and you’re over a lot. Close with the Gettys that live next door because they moved in when I was eight and never left. They’re welcome here any time. The kids love ’em. But I don’t walk them home, sit close to them on the couch or out on my deck at night, havin’ a beer.”

“Do you think that’s what’s troubling her?” I went on, even though, in the early stages, she seemed to hope her dad and I would get together.

“Again, no clue,” he said.

“You want to meet my kids, Mickey, perhaps you should think on sharing what’s happening with Cill and Ash in an official way,” I suggested. “If it’s out in the open, you can discuss it with her.”

“Great. My Sunday plans look only slightly better than my Friday night plans did.”

I grinned, lifted my head from his shoulder and looked to his jaw. “It’s not like we’re not used to this road being rocky.”

He didn’t look down at me.

He said to the dark night, “You’re right. The fuck of it is, you grow up thinkin’ things are gonna be a certain way and then they end up mostly fucked with moments of decent and flashes of really fuckin’ good.”

I snuggled my cheek to his shoulder, hating that.

Mickey had a boss he did not respect, a job he didn’t like doing that bought him taking a lot of complaints from angry people about decisions he did not make.

He’d had a wife he loved who’d become an alcoholic right before his eyes. He lost her and now she was making him live in fear for his kids not only when they were with her but what her effect was on them when they weren’t.

He needed to become fire chief.

He needed to get his business off the ground.

And Rhiannon needed to sort herself out.

As for me, I needed to do what I could to give Mickey as many flashes of really fucking good as I could.

Mickey read my mood but he read it wrong.

“Sorry, baby, you don’t need my bitching.”

“Actually, I do,” I returned. “Because if you don’t lay it on me, it’ll eat you up inside and your kids need you whole, standing and fighting. So I’ll take whatever you got. It isn’t hard. So you have that and you have what you need to take care of your babies.”

Mickey was silent and the night was still. This lasted so long it made me tense.

“Mickey?”

“Sixteen years. Fuck, that asshole blew it.”

I relaxed against him.

“I spoiled our kids,” I admitted. “Gave them everything they wanted.”

“Yeah, got a dose of that,” he returned.

“Conrad didn’t like it. He talked to me. I didn’t listen.”

“God, fuck, sorry. You’re right. It’s a wonder your kids are functioning instead of in inpatient therapy. Now I get it. You spoiled your kids. That guy had every reason to step out on you.”

There was lightness to his voice but just to be sure, I asked, “Are you joking?”

“Fuck yeah, Amy. Shit,” he answered, his voice shaking.

I pressed my cheek into his chest and also started shaking.

Then audibly giggling.

Mickey audibly chuckled with me.

When I stopped, I lifted my glass and took a sip of wine.

When Mickey stopped, he did the same with his beer.

We fell silent and sat in the dark.

But I did it hoping it was one of Mickey Donovan’s moments of decent.

Or maybe even a hint of a flash of happy.

* * * * *

The next afternoon, my phone on my kitchen counter rang.

I saw it was Mickey calling and I snatched it up, glanced at my landing, saw the TV on and bits of both my kids’ limbs. Neither of them looked my way, so casually, I took the call while walking to the hall and heading toward my bedroom.