Oleander: One of Us Series Page 8

  “Sit,” he commanded and nodded toward the seat. “No one’s going to harm you, not while I’m here.”

  And the memory of his threats to Pappa Joe returned…Not gonna make her do anything she doesn’t want to do. Now you can either step aside, and let nature take its course, or…I’m gonna make you. “You were at the shelter yesterday. Heard you talking to Pappa Joe.”

  Pots and pans clanged in the kitchen, still I heard his words just fine. “The old man’s a little overprotective when it comes to his flock. Doesn’t understand I’m not the bad guy here.”

  “Ma’am,” the waiter murmured and neared the table. “If you’d like to be seated.”

  Layers upon layers of creamy pasta glistened under the overhead lights. My belly snarled and rumbled, demanding to be heard. But this was about more than food…

  And in a frantic heartbeat I was back on that Tundra with the wind in my eyes and fear in my veins. Smelled too good, sounded too sincere. Trapped. The word waged a war with my belly.

  I shook my head, and took a step backwards as Maddox started to speak. “I guess you can already tell by the accent I’m Irish. Fourth generation to be exact. My parents, and my grandparents left Belfast when I was nine. I don’t remember much of our home, mostly the bombing in the streets before we left. But I have family with blood ties that reach further than memories ever could…just like you…”

  His gaze slipped to my shoulders…but it wasn’t my body he was interested in…it was my pack. I stiffened, curled my shoulders. “You…you went through my things.”

  He gave a nod. “I did.” And then leaned forward on the table. “And I’m glad I did.”

  Rage cracked like a whip. My fists tightened, and that unfathomable darkness whispered inside hurt him…don’t let him close to you…don’t let anyone close to you.

  Those dark eyes were like claws digging in…holding tight as he continued. “Otherwise I’d never be able to give you the one thing you wanted…and coincidently the one thing I can give. You want information, right? On the surname Sullivan? Just so happens my Mamó has relatives who are Sullivan.”

  My heart skipped a beat. Mamó? Mama…no, Grandma…it’s his Grandma. And there was that glint in those dangerous eyes once more. “What?” The hiss tore free. “What did you say?”

  The corners of his lips curled. He nodded toward the piled plate that waited. “Eat up, and we’ll go for a drive if you want. I told Mamó all about you, that you were lookin’ for your kin.”

  My heart sped. I glanced over my shoulder to the door.

  “Ain’t no one gonna make you stay, Purple. Got no reason to be afraid of me.”

  Fork clanged on plates, along with a deep moan of contentment from one of his protectors, and from the kitchen the pungent scent of coffee followed.

  No one moved as I took a slow step. I reached for the back of the chair and carefully dragged it free. The howl of timber on polished wood followed.

  Not gonna hurt me. I sank to the edge of the seat and reached for the plate. Pasta slipped around the fork as I stabbed the silky mound and heaved the food into my mouth. My belly twisted and snarled as I chewed and then swallowed.

  His men were blurs at the edge of my vision. I kept them in sight and chewed a little faster.

  “I remember something of the Sullivan’s. Mamó knew anyone who was anyone in the day. She’s got some wild stories of her youth. Wild enough to turn your purple hair back to brown.”

  Maddox lifted his hand and waived the waiter forward, and another plate slid into view. Big fat rolls of tortellini with tomato sauce and shaved parmesan cheese sat at my right. I chewed and swallowed, scraped what I could and then dragged the tortellini close.

  “That was your natural color, right? It’s hard to tell from here.”

  Chew…chew…swallow. Only watching…eating.

  “You interest me, you know that?” he murmured. “There’s something about you, Purple. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.”

  I glanced at my sleeves pulled low—hiding the numbers and fumbled for the glass of water.

  “What’s your story?”

  I didn’t answer. He didn’t know anything. Even if he saw what was in the book, he’d never understand. Not the holes in my memory…or the darkness that welled inside.

  No one would.

  “You’ll tell me, one day. We’re going to be good friends, you and I, Purple. I feel it in my bones.”

  And as I scraped the last forkful into my mouth, my belly gave a shudder and fell silent. He glanced at the empty plate and gave a contented smirk. “You done?”

  I gave a nod as that sinking feel snuck in. What did he want? They always wanted something…just reach inside there…that’s the way…that’s a good girl. But the one thing they didn’t want—the one thing they never counted on—was the beast inside.

  “You ready to find out more about your family?” The question lingered in the air. I wanted to tell him no. I wanted to run, but he carried truth like it was nothing, just a shrug of the shoulders. “Be a real shame if Mamó got out the photo albums for nothing.”

  He stood then, rising so slowly I could only stare, and something inside me wanted to go with him so goddamn bad. Something inside me needed, just for once to belong. I searched for that faint voice. The one that came to me all those years ago as I walked from the shopping center and my father for the last time.

  A male’s voice filling my head…what did he say to me?

  It’s okay…I’m right here…yeah, that’s what he said. But there was nothing but an emptiness inside me…a vast barren wasteland as far as I could see. I gave a slow nod and then pushed from the table. I needed something more than…this…

  “There we go, first steps always the hardest. Got my car out front.” He lifted his head, and gave a nod.

  The protector behind me moved, shoving out of his seat and making for the door. I tracked his movements. I tracked all their movements as Maddox skirted the table and lifted his hand. “Come, my grandmother is looking forward to meeting you.”

  I let him lead me, let him touch me…and followed him out the front door of the restaurant.

  The white pickup pulled up to the curb and idled. White smoke billowed from the exhaust as the engine throbbed, but Maddox took his time, stepping up to the open door of the driver’s side and climbed in.

  There was no coaxing, no pleading…just like the meal, I either ate, or I didn’t. The dull thud of the closing door filled the night before the window slid low. Maddox spoke to his men, giving instructions I couldn’t hear, but they glanced my way and gave a nod, and then they were leaving, turning around to walk back along the darkened street.

  Headlights flared from a car parked across the road, and a sleek black sedan pulled out onto the street and headed their way.

  “You comin’ Purple?”

  I flinched at the name and found Maddox staring at me, and for some unknown reason I took a step, and then another, finding myself cutting across the car to the passenger’s side door.

  Family roared through my veins as I grasped the handle of the truck and yanked. The desperate need to belong drove me…just someone—just to know they were there, and they knew me…they knew my name, knew my face—knew I existed.

  Maddox turned his head as I shoved my backpack in first, settled into the seat and then yanked the door closed. We were moving before I tugged the seatbelt down, pulling out onto the streets and into the city lights.

  “God, I love this city,” he muttered and stared into the sparkling blur. “Love everything about it. You from Demand, Purple?”

  I shook my head. “No.”

  Silence lingered, like he was waiting for me to fill the void about my past and my life. But we weren’t friends…we weren’t friends and this wasn’t a thing, and anyway…he wasn’t supposed to know me. Not like that.

  “Spent my whole life here. Hated it at first, thought my folks were keeping me prisoner, until…until I did a stint in Juveni
le Prison. Then all of a sudden Demand wasn’t so bad at all.”

  I said nothing, just kept my gaze fixed on the streets as we turned left onto Mossman parade and then followed that all the way out to places I’d never seen, and all the while Maddox kept talking.

  The warmth from the heater filled the cabin, warming my feet and then my legs, lulling me with a belly full of food. It was so nice in here, so nice to feel normal. I glanced out of the window to the moonless night. It’d be cold out there…cold tonight under the bridge.

  “…and then I figured, hey, why not help out, send out a few deliveries. Pappa helps where he can, but there’s only so much he can do, right?”

  I tuned back in and turned my head. “Yeah.”

  He fell silent, glanced my way and then smiled and shook his head. “And they tell me I’m the quiet one. Look at me, non-stop blabbing since the moment you got into the car.”

  I stared straight ahead, catching the houses and the streets, finding the markers…Olsen’s Antiques…left on Hutt…heading north.

  “What are you looking at?”

  I jerked at the question. “Nothing.”

  “You’ve got to be looking at something? You’ve barely said a word since you got in the car. Where’s Miss bravado hiding now?” he joked and glanced at the streets.

  But I could see the change now, see him trying to look through my eyes… “You scared, Purple? Worried I’m going to take you to some dark alley and leave you for dead?”

  Yes. “No.”

  He knew. He knew without me saying a word, and the energy in the car turned that little bit colder. A heaviness filled my chest. He’d been nice, I mean why feed the person you were just about to kill…right?

  “I get it Purple…I get you.”

  I wanted to cower against the door, wanted to cower from his sight. No, he didn’t get me…no one did.

  “It’s this house on the left. The old brownstone. I’ll give you the address if you want…if it makes you feel a little safer.”

  He downshifted the gears and hit the indicator. He could be lying. This could be all for show...

  The car braked and pulled up against the curb. He yanked the handbrake and killed the engine. “Keys in the ignition. Just grab them when I give the sign.”

  And he was gone, barging open the driver’s door, leaving the frigid, night air to take his place.

  I followed him with my eyes as he lunged up the stairs, taking two at a time and bashed on the door. The houses here all looked the same, tall, thin, peeled black paint on the iron railing.

  The door cracked open, and faded yellow light seeped out. An old woman stared down at him, lips moving, before she lifted her gaze. There was a second before she lifted her hand and waved me out of the car.

  Don’t go. Don’t go in there.

  Don’t give part of yourself away…don’t hope.

  Don’t dream.

  That ache was overwhelming, swallowing me in a black abyss as she waved me forward once more. I glanced at the steering wheel, and then punched the button for my seatbelt.

  Lights on the stereo died as I twisted the key and yanked them free. I gripped my bag and shouldered open the door. My fingers trembled with the cold as I shoved it closed behind me and stabbed the remote.

  Lights blinked twice as the locks engaged, and then I was rushing forward, scurrying up the stairs after them.

  “Hurry. You’re letting all the damn heat out,” the old woman snarled.

  Maddox stood outside, arm out, hand hurrying me through as I raced up the stairs and through the open door.

  “Come on…come in.” The old woman stopped, turned and motioned me forward. “Blow a dog off a chain out there. Damn icy too.”

  She was smaller than I expected, just a tiny old woman, curled spine making her hunched.

  Faded yellow flowers on her dress blended into what was once white. So old…she looked like she’d spent an entire generation wearing it. The threadbare shawl around her shoulders would barely stave off the cold. I knew clothes like that…knew shirts too thin and stolen jeans too baggy. Knew clothes that’d been worn until they pulled too high on my wrists, exposing the numbers.

  I knew cold, knew hunger…knew one step from being homeless…and this old woman was it. I followed her through the doorway and across the brown and white plush carpet to stand on plastic runners. So if the Brother’s had all this money, why not help her?

  I looked around and then glanced to the old woman. It was all in the way she held herself, all in her sharp keen eyes. The woman was proud…too proud to take money from kin.

  Ireland was everywhere, from the Irish fiddle mounted on the wall to the black and white photos of a historic Ireland in thick wooden frames.

  “Come…come…don’t just stand around. Fergal, get your lady friend here a stiff drink.”

  Fergal? I watched him step close to her, head low like a meek boy and kiss her quickly on the cheek. They loved each other, it was plain to see as she patted him roughly on the arm.

  The wind howled through the cracks of this old place and the icy draft cut deep. There were no bar heaters, or fireplace I could find. Only old timber cabinets, and photos. Only the past.

  She was stuck there…the thought hit me like a blow—just as I was stuck in mine.

  She turned in degrees and then lifted her head to catch my gaze. “Fergal tells me you’re lookin’ for your kin.”

  “Yes Ma’am. I was able to trace my mother’s name back to Sullivan.”

  “Ha!” she barked, a strand of white hair came away from the bun at the back of her head to bounce against her forehead. “Only half the damn country is a damn Sullivan.”

  She shuffled over to the dining room chairs while the thud of kitchen cabinets filled the space. Gnarled knuckles turned white as she gripped the back of the chair and eased herself down. “Over here, let me look at you.”

  I obeyed, moving closer and then kneeling at her feet…fingers curled, hands slid under the opening of my sleeves.

  She peered at me with deep set eyes. I wanted to touch her, feel her thin skin, and the softness of her wrinkles. I wanted to smooth the stray, white hair, to make sure it was real…that she was real.

  The pads of her fingers were soft as she gripped my chin and turned my head this way and that. “Sullivan, you reckon? Could be Mary’s kin, you look like her…’cept for the eyes…and the hair. Got your daddy’s eyes, do you?”

  I swallowed hard as the clink of glasses came from the kitchen, followed by the heavy thud of Maddox returning. “No, Ma’am. Not my father’s eyes.”

  Her fingers dug into my jaw as she stared into my them. “You, child, have haunted eyes. Seen plenty of those in my time.”

  “Whiskey,” Maddox muttered. “It’ll warm you.”

  “Or kill you,” his grandmother muttered as she let go of my face to reach for the glass.

  The amber liquid splashed against the side of the tumbler as she drank. There was a wince and then a moan before the whiskey was gone. She swiped her mouth with the back of her wrinkled hand. “Don’t just stand there. Drink, and hand me that green album over there.”

  “Purple,” Maddox murmured and handed me a glass with an inch of whiskey on the bottom.

  I shook my head and the old woman glared. “Drink. It’s the only damn thing I’ve got that’ll warm you.”

  Maddox pushed the tumbler harder against my hand and gave a nod, emptying his own in return. This is what people do…they drink, they talk…they sit around and look at old photographs.

  I glanced at my bag, filled with photos of a mother I never knew…and a child with no tattoos on the inside of her arm.

  “Mamó,” he murmured and knelt at her feet.

  There was love in his eyes, love that twinkled like the stars at night as he opened the album on her lap. In an instant she was gone, transported back to the world in black and white as a smile curled her pale lips.

  Maddox saw it…all eyes were on the old woman as she
spoke. “My Ireland. This is how it used to be. Look here, that was my home right there.”

  She stabbed her finger at a darkened blur in the middle of the image. I sipped the bitter liquid and winced, staring where she poked and then plucked an image free from the thick pages. “And this here…this here’s your Daideo when we first met.”

  She stilled then, staring at the image with the kind of longing that made my chest ache. “How long has he been gone?”

  “Too long,” Maddox muttered.

  “Fifty-two years,” the old woman answered, her voice growing soft and tender—far too tender for this world. “And not a day goes by that I don’t remember his laugh, or the way he held me.”

  A shining tear raced down her cheek. The image trembled, just a little before she put it back down and shifted her gaze. “Ah, here she is…your kin, Mary Sullivan.”

  I leaned forward to stare at a thin, young woman standing outside a row of old shops. She was just a blur to me, but Maddox’s Mamó smiled and nodded, and then glanced to me. “Yes, yes that’s her. You do have her eyes when I look at this. A fighter’s eyes and she was a fighter until the very last. Cancer took her…can’t quite remember the year. But I’ll bet my bottom dollar you’re one of her kin.”

  She reached over and patted my hand. In this moment it was an almost…almost family…almost real, and still the tears fell, sliding down her cheeks to drip onto the black and white images.

  She showed me more, turning page after page to point out more pictures of Mary Sullivan and relived the days of old, and when she finally sat back and fell silent there were no more tears.

  She looked at me different now. No longer a stranger…no longer unwelcome. Her fingers were softer and gentle this time as she reached for my face. “You’re a fighter. I see Irish blood in you, and that can never go away. I want you to come back and see me, you hear me?”

  The corners of my mouth curled, and that hollow in my chest didn’t feel as vast as I nodded.

  “We best get going Mamó, got an early start tomorrow.”

  “And you coming? You bringing the meals?”