Craving Resurrection
Page 77
“What de hell do I do?” I asked in defeat, drinking the watered down beer in front of me. American beer was fucking disgusting.
“It’s time to go home, man,” Charlie informed me with a slap on the back as he got to his feet. “Nothin’ you can do in this shit hole, and your mom’s gonna write to the clubhouse, yeah? Could be she’s already sent the letter. No way to know until we get there.”
I nodded, following him out of the bar on unsteady legs that I tried to disguise.
No one could know how fucking terrified I was that I’d never get that letter.
***
“Where de fuck are ye, Mum?” I said into the phone, trying to turn my back on the crowded room behind me.
It had been three agonizing weeks since that day in the pub, and I’d finally received a letter that morning in the mail with a telephone number where I could reach Mum. She hadn’t said anything about Amy, and I prayed that wherever they were, at least they were still together.
I was livid and frightened. Everything was different in Oregon, the fucking roads, the money, even the language. Christ, we all spoke English, but there was quite a difference between how I spoke it and how they did. The slang was fucked, the beer tasted like shite, and I’d been going out of my mind with worry.
“Don’t use that tone with me,” Mum warned, before sighing. “I’m sorry it’s taken so long.”
“Where are ye?”
“I’d love to tell ye, but we both know the minute I did, ye’d be on yer way here and I don’t think now is the best time.”
I sputtered, completely caught off guard by her words. Not the best time? What the fuck did that mean?
“Explain yerself,” I said, glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one was paying any attention to the way I was losing it.
“Amy is not ready to see ye.”
“She’s me wife, goddammit!” My voice rose and I could feel my temples throbbing as I tried to calm myself.
“Yer wife willna speak to ye. She doesn’t want to see ye,” she replied apologetically.
“And yer just goin’ to play her game den, is it? Whose Mum are ye?”
“Don’t ye dare, Patrick Gallagher!” Mum’s voice went from calm to furious in a moment. “Ye’ve made yer bed, and ye know it. I’ve got a heartbroken girl here who refuses to speak, I don’t have time fer yer male posturin!’ ”
“Refuses to speak?” I asked, confused as fuck. “What are ye goin’ on about?”
“She’s not said a word since we left Ireland,” she replied, her voice going quiet again. “I’m not sure why, but—”
“Tell me where ye are, Mum. Tell me where ye are and I’ll come take care of it.” I was pleading now, the fear in Mum’s voice causing my heart to race as I remembered Amy when I’d found her at her parents’ house, unwashed and afraid. Even then, she’d matched me word for word. I couldn’t imagine anything that could make her stop speaking for any length of time.
“I’m sorry, son. I’m afraid ye’d make it worse.”
“Mum—”
“Call again in a few days—”
“Mum!”
“I love ye.”
“Mum!”
She hung up and I pulled the phone away from my face in disbelief before throwing it against the wall.
“FUCK!”
I scrubbed my hands over my face, then glanced at the phone that was hanging by its curly cord over the top of the bar. I couldn’t even call back if I’d wanted to; I’d smashed the thing to pieces in my rage.
What the fuck was happening? I’d make her worse? I was her bloody husband! I loved her more than anyone on the entire fucking earth. I’d do anything for her.
“Is everyt’in’ okay, Trick?” Moira asked quietly, coming up behind me to set a hand on my back.
“Not now, Moira,” I mumbled, shrugging her off.
I had to get away from this place. I glanced up to see half of the room watching me curiously, and began tapping my fingers in a familiar rhythm against my thigh. I realized all of them were watching as I lost my mind, and my face fell into an expressionless mask.
“Let’s take a ride, brother. Yeah?” Charlie called as he passed me, thumping me on the back.
Yes. That was exactly what I needed.
I followed him outside and climbed on the bike Ham had loaned me until I could work off a trade.
My wife was hurting and silent somewhere and wanted nothing to do with me.
It was the lowest point in my life.
Chapter 39
Amy
I had nightmares.
To be completely honest, they didn’t happen every night. They only happened on the nights that I actually slept.
I was a mess. Peg and I had rented a small house, not unlike the one we’d had in Ireland, and I’d barely left it since the day we moved in. I just… couldn’t. Peg had found a job pretty quickly in the produce department of the local grocery store, which meant we had money to live, but me? I barely contributed at all.
I cooked and cleaned like a stay at home housewife, but I could barely walk outside to grab the mail at the end of the driveway. Anytime I stepped outside, it felt like I was being watched. Logically, I knew the chances of Malcolm finding me in the small Texas town were nearly impossible. We’d changed busses so many times that the FBI would have a hard time pinpointing our location.
However, fear wasn’t logical—it wasn’t easily overlooked or pushed past. Instead, every day I had to push myself a little farther. I’d go to the store with Peg for groceries, or to the library for books. I’d step out onto the porch while Peg was at work and count to sixty, then one hundred, then I’d set the timer on the stove for five minutes, rushing back inside with a racing heart and sweaty palms as soon as the designated count was over.
“It’s time to go home, man,” Charlie informed me with a slap on the back as he got to his feet. “Nothin’ you can do in this shit hole, and your mom’s gonna write to the clubhouse, yeah? Could be she’s already sent the letter. No way to know until we get there.”
I nodded, following him out of the bar on unsteady legs that I tried to disguise.
No one could know how fucking terrified I was that I’d never get that letter.
***
“Where de fuck are ye, Mum?” I said into the phone, trying to turn my back on the crowded room behind me.
It had been three agonizing weeks since that day in the pub, and I’d finally received a letter that morning in the mail with a telephone number where I could reach Mum. She hadn’t said anything about Amy, and I prayed that wherever they were, at least they were still together.
I was livid and frightened. Everything was different in Oregon, the fucking roads, the money, even the language. Christ, we all spoke English, but there was quite a difference between how I spoke it and how they did. The slang was fucked, the beer tasted like shite, and I’d been going out of my mind with worry.
“Don’t use that tone with me,” Mum warned, before sighing. “I’m sorry it’s taken so long.”
“Where are ye?”
“I’d love to tell ye, but we both know the minute I did, ye’d be on yer way here and I don’t think now is the best time.”
I sputtered, completely caught off guard by her words. Not the best time? What the fuck did that mean?
“Explain yerself,” I said, glancing over my shoulder to make sure no one was paying any attention to the way I was losing it.
“Amy is not ready to see ye.”
“She’s me wife, goddammit!” My voice rose and I could feel my temples throbbing as I tried to calm myself.
“Yer wife willna speak to ye. She doesn’t want to see ye,” she replied apologetically.
“And yer just goin’ to play her game den, is it? Whose Mum are ye?”
“Don’t ye dare, Patrick Gallagher!” Mum’s voice went from calm to furious in a moment. “Ye’ve made yer bed, and ye know it. I’ve got a heartbroken girl here who refuses to speak, I don’t have time fer yer male posturin!’ ”
“Refuses to speak?” I asked, confused as fuck. “What are ye goin’ on about?”
“She’s not said a word since we left Ireland,” she replied, her voice going quiet again. “I’m not sure why, but—”
“Tell me where ye are, Mum. Tell me where ye are and I’ll come take care of it.” I was pleading now, the fear in Mum’s voice causing my heart to race as I remembered Amy when I’d found her at her parents’ house, unwashed and afraid. Even then, she’d matched me word for word. I couldn’t imagine anything that could make her stop speaking for any length of time.
“I’m sorry, son. I’m afraid ye’d make it worse.”
“Mum—”
“Call again in a few days—”
“Mum!”
“I love ye.”
“Mum!”
She hung up and I pulled the phone away from my face in disbelief before throwing it against the wall.
“FUCK!”
I scrubbed my hands over my face, then glanced at the phone that was hanging by its curly cord over the top of the bar. I couldn’t even call back if I’d wanted to; I’d smashed the thing to pieces in my rage.
What the fuck was happening? I’d make her worse? I was her bloody husband! I loved her more than anyone on the entire fucking earth. I’d do anything for her.
“Is everyt’in’ okay, Trick?” Moira asked quietly, coming up behind me to set a hand on my back.
“Not now, Moira,” I mumbled, shrugging her off.
I had to get away from this place. I glanced up to see half of the room watching me curiously, and began tapping my fingers in a familiar rhythm against my thigh. I realized all of them were watching as I lost my mind, and my face fell into an expressionless mask.
“Let’s take a ride, brother. Yeah?” Charlie called as he passed me, thumping me on the back.
Yes. That was exactly what I needed.
I followed him outside and climbed on the bike Ham had loaned me until I could work off a trade.
My wife was hurting and silent somewhere and wanted nothing to do with me.
It was the lowest point in my life.
Chapter 39
Amy
I had nightmares.
To be completely honest, they didn’t happen every night. They only happened on the nights that I actually slept.
I was a mess. Peg and I had rented a small house, not unlike the one we’d had in Ireland, and I’d barely left it since the day we moved in. I just… couldn’t. Peg had found a job pretty quickly in the produce department of the local grocery store, which meant we had money to live, but me? I barely contributed at all.
I cooked and cleaned like a stay at home housewife, but I could barely walk outside to grab the mail at the end of the driveway. Anytime I stepped outside, it felt like I was being watched. Logically, I knew the chances of Malcolm finding me in the small Texas town were nearly impossible. We’d changed busses so many times that the FBI would have a hard time pinpointing our location.
However, fear wasn’t logical—it wasn’t easily overlooked or pushed past. Instead, every day I had to push myself a little farther. I’d go to the store with Peg for groceries, or to the library for books. I’d step out onto the porch while Peg was at work and count to sixty, then one hundred, then I’d set the timer on the stove for five minutes, rushing back inside with a racing heart and sweaty palms as soon as the designated count was over.
