The Irishman's Christmas Gamble
Page 22
She looked up and saw the photograph of Liam sitting on his teammates’ shoulders, his head thrown back in a silent shout as he lifted his arms above his head. His hair was matted to his skull and his knees were bloody, but his face was lit with the savage joy of triumph. She had the same photograph in the file in her office. It was from the game that had advanced Ireland to the quarter-finals of the World Cup. And one of her favorites because it showed the essence of the boy who wouldn’t allow the world to beat him down.
“Can we order now?” Owen asked. “I’m starving.”
His child’s whine slashed through her, and all the memories, all the images, all the Irishness of this place swelled up in her chest until she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t slow the pounding of her heart.
Sweat seemed to erupt from her pores, soaking her blouse so it clung to her skin as she saw her six-year-old sister double over, sobbing and clutching her stomach when the hunger cramps grew too strong. The disappointed faces of her younger siblings arrayed around the table as she dished out one spoonful of watery boiled potatoes on each plate and nothing more. The humiliation of coaching her youngest sister to open her big blue eyes wide when Frankie took her to the grocer’s to beg for rotten fruit.
She was going to explode.
“Liam, I’m not feeling well. I’ll wait in the car.” She brushed away his concern as he rose to let her scramble out of the booth. Calling on every ounce of strength she could muster, she locked her eyes on his and spoke in a normal tone, “Stay with Owen. I need air, that’s all.”
She bolted out the door and into the car. Dropping her head back against the seat, she forced herself to breathe in for six seconds, hold for six seconds, breathe out for six seconds. The child’s cry I’m starving beat against the inside of her skull like a hammer against a gong.
She yanked out her phone. “Vincent, I need to get back there ASAP. Send a car and the chopper.”
By the time Liam had gotten Owen’s lunch to go and dragged his son to the limo, Frankie was gone. The driver said a car had picked her up not five minutes after she’d made a phone call. “She asked me to give you these,” he said, handing Liam two small folded notes. He flipped open the one with his name on it.
Dear Liam,
Your son is a fine young man. You should be very proud of him. I am honored that I got to meet him. But it’s too much. All the memories. I can’t. I’m sorry.
Frankie
He crumpled the paper with a snarl. She couldn’t even bring herself to add a word of affection in her closing.
“Da? What happened to Frankie?” Owen asked.
Liam shoved the balled-up paper into his pocket. “She got sick and went home.”
“But the limo’s still here.”
“She’s a very resourceful lady, so she called a cab.” Or something faster, to carry her away from her past. “Here’s your lunch. Go ahead and eat in the car.”
Owen grabbed the takeout bag with enthusiasm, while Liam unfolded the note with Owen’s name on it. He wasn’t handing his son anything that Frankie had written without checking it first.
Dear Owen,
I’m sorry to leave without saying good-bye. I might have a touch of the stomach flu, and I didn’t want to pass my germs to you and your da. I’ve known your da for a long, long time, and I want to tell you that he is the strongest, most honorable man I’ve ever met. You can always trust him to have your back, to take care of you, to be there when you need him. He will love you truly, with everything in him. And he will never hurt you. You are too young to understand what a rare thing that is, but in time you will. Be good to him, Owen, and love him with all your heart. He is one of the few people who is worthy of it.
Warmest regards,
Frankie
Liam folded the note as though it were fine, fragile silk, smoothing it between his fingers. He stood with his head down while he fought back the black sea of anguish trying to drown him. Maybe he would give Owen this note one day, but not now.
These could be the last words he would ever have from Frankie.
Chapter Nine
Frankie stepped out of her elevator and walked straight to the door to her terrace. She needed the slap and bite of the frigid winter wind to counter the storm raging in her mind and heart. She walked to the wall and pressed her hands down into the frosting of snow Liam had joked about her staff leaving for picturesque effect. Liam. Her body jerked as though she’d been shocked. She threw her head back as she fought the torrent of agony the thought of him sent roaring through her. A long, low moan wrenched itself from her throat, rising to the gunmetal gray sky.
She felt as though some part of her, an organ deep inside her body, had been cut out of her, leaving a gaping emptiness that was worse than the slash of a razor blade. She’d carried him there, next to her heart, all these years. And now she had to rip him out because her past could still rise up and destroy her.
Her hands burned with cold, but she held them against the snow and frozen stone, pushing them against the gritty surface.
She wasn’t strong enough to face down her terrors and come to Liam as a whole, undamaged person. She wasn’t worthy of his love, wasn’t worthy even to claim his friendship.
The wind sliced through her thin cashmere sweater and she shuddered. Frostbite and pneumonia weren’t the answer, so she tucked her hands under her arms and trudged back into the warmth of her apartment. Her gaze went to the framed photos Liam had picked up. The ones she’d carried with her everywhere.
Walking straight to them, she picked up the frame and flipped open the back to pull the strip of paper out. She touched the two young faces, the excitement of their smiles contrasting with the fear and loneliness in their eyes. The soccer academy was Liam’s big chance, and they both burned for him to succeed.
But they’d survived the desperation and dangers of Finglas because they’d always had each other. Once he left, there had been no one to cheer her on, no one to trust with her secrets, no one to protect her from her mistakes.
She hadn’t cried that day, not even after Liam’s ferry to England had rumbled away from the dock. She’d gone to work and wrapped herself in the warm, comforting aroma of melted chocolate.
“Can we order now?” Owen asked. “I’m starving.”
His child’s whine slashed through her, and all the memories, all the images, all the Irishness of this place swelled up in her chest until she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see, couldn’t slow the pounding of her heart.
Sweat seemed to erupt from her pores, soaking her blouse so it clung to her skin as she saw her six-year-old sister double over, sobbing and clutching her stomach when the hunger cramps grew too strong. The disappointed faces of her younger siblings arrayed around the table as she dished out one spoonful of watery boiled potatoes on each plate and nothing more. The humiliation of coaching her youngest sister to open her big blue eyes wide when Frankie took her to the grocer’s to beg for rotten fruit.
She was going to explode.
“Liam, I’m not feeling well. I’ll wait in the car.” She brushed away his concern as he rose to let her scramble out of the booth. Calling on every ounce of strength she could muster, she locked her eyes on his and spoke in a normal tone, “Stay with Owen. I need air, that’s all.”
She bolted out the door and into the car. Dropping her head back against the seat, she forced herself to breathe in for six seconds, hold for six seconds, breathe out for six seconds. The child’s cry I’m starving beat against the inside of her skull like a hammer against a gong.
She yanked out her phone. “Vincent, I need to get back there ASAP. Send a car and the chopper.”
By the time Liam had gotten Owen’s lunch to go and dragged his son to the limo, Frankie was gone. The driver said a car had picked her up not five minutes after she’d made a phone call. “She asked me to give you these,” he said, handing Liam two small folded notes. He flipped open the one with his name on it.
Dear Liam,
Your son is a fine young man. You should be very proud of him. I am honored that I got to meet him. But it’s too much. All the memories. I can’t. I’m sorry.
Frankie
He crumpled the paper with a snarl. She couldn’t even bring herself to add a word of affection in her closing.
“Da? What happened to Frankie?” Owen asked.
Liam shoved the balled-up paper into his pocket. “She got sick and went home.”
“But the limo’s still here.”
“She’s a very resourceful lady, so she called a cab.” Or something faster, to carry her away from her past. “Here’s your lunch. Go ahead and eat in the car.”
Owen grabbed the takeout bag with enthusiasm, while Liam unfolded the note with Owen’s name on it. He wasn’t handing his son anything that Frankie had written without checking it first.
Dear Owen,
I’m sorry to leave without saying good-bye. I might have a touch of the stomach flu, and I didn’t want to pass my germs to you and your da. I’ve known your da for a long, long time, and I want to tell you that he is the strongest, most honorable man I’ve ever met. You can always trust him to have your back, to take care of you, to be there when you need him. He will love you truly, with everything in him. And he will never hurt you. You are too young to understand what a rare thing that is, but in time you will. Be good to him, Owen, and love him with all your heart. He is one of the few people who is worthy of it.
Warmest regards,
Frankie
Liam folded the note as though it were fine, fragile silk, smoothing it between his fingers. He stood with his head down while he fought back the black sea of anguish trying to drown him. Maybe he would give Owen this note one day, but not now.
These could be the last words he would ever have from Frankie.
Chapter Nine
Frankie stepped out of her elevator and walked straight to the door to her terrace. She needed the slap and bite of the frigid winter wind to counter the storm raging in her mind and heart. She walked to the wall and pressed her hands down into the frosting of snow Liam had joked about her staff leaving for picturesque effect. Liam. Her body jerked as though she’d been shocked. She threw her head back as she fought the torrent of agony the thought of him sent roaring through her. A long, low moan wrenched itself from her throat, rising to the gunmetal gray sky.
She felt as though some part of her, an organ deep inside her body, had been cut out of her, leaving a gaping emptiness that was worse than the slash of a razor blade. She’d carried him there, next to her heart, all these years. And now she had to rip him out because her past could still rise up and destroy her.
Her hands burned with cold, but she held them against the snow and frozen stone, pushing them against the gritty surface.
She wasn’t strong enough to face down her terrors and come to Liam as a whole, undamaged person. She wasn’t worthy of his love, wasn’t worthy even to claim his friendship.
The wind sliced through her thin cashmere sweater and she shuddered. Frostbite and pneumonia weren’t the answer, so she tucked her hands under her arms and trudged back into the warmth of her apartment. Her gaze went to the framed photos Liam had picked up. The ones she’d carried with her everywhere.
Walking straight to them, she picked up the frame and flipped open the back to pull the strip of paper out. She touched the two young faces, the excitement of their smiles contrasting with the fear and loneliness in their eyes. The soccer academy was Liam’s big chance, and they both burned for him to succeed.
But they’d survived the desperation and dangers of Finglas because they’d always had each other. Once he left, there had been no one to cheer her on, no one to trust with her secrets, no one to protect her from her mistakes.
She hadn’t cried that day, not even after Liam’s ferry to England had rumbled away from the dock. She’d gone to work and wrapped herself in the warm, comforting aroma of melted chocolate.
