Soaring (Magdalene #2)(116)

That was surprising.

“You talked to her after Cillian’s birthday?” I asked.

“Not gonna send my kids back to her if she’s still on a bender,” he replied.

“You didn’t…” I hesitated, wondering if I should go on but since I’d started I decided I’d better, “tell me.”

“Amy, you had your own shit goin’ down with your family. We’d just got on track. Not the time to drag you down in my shit. Never is really the time to drag you down in my shit, but Rhiannon isn’t in my life and still, seconds away from f*ckin’ you, doin’ it hard because you’re bein’ a smartass and both of us lookin’ forward to it, get a call from the sheriff with her draggin’ both of us down in her shit.”

I didn’t really have a good feeling about Mickey not thinking he could share things with me.

I also didn’t think it was the time to go over that with him.

Instead, I invited, “Auden is coming over tonight for dinner and to watch TV. But I’d like it if you’d phone me to let me know how your meeting went.” I said that but quickly added, “I mean, if you want to.”

“I get home, get my kids fed and sorted, I’ll do that, baby.”

At least that was good.

“And f*ckin’ great news your boy is comin’ to you just to hang.”

That made me grin. “Yeah.”

“Right, aren’t you at Dove House?” he asked.

“Outside, about to go in,” I told him.

“Hope Mrs. McMurphy doesn’t hand you your ticket to Nuremberg.”

That had me giggling through which I said, “I think I’ve bought some immunity with her birthday cookie sandwiches.”

“Only Nazi I know who could do that is you, though, sayin’ that, those cookies were the shit.”

He would think so. He’d had three after we’d had Chinese.

“I should probably get in,” I said.

“I should probably get back,” he replied, though his was a lot less enthusiastic than mine.

I really hoped his roofing business took off.

“Okay, I’ll let you go.”

“Talk to you later, Amy.”

“Yeah, Mickey…” and I made a sudden choking noise because I had to physically stop myself from ending that, Love you.

It was a natural conclusion to a conversation with someone you cared about.

But we weren’t anywhere near there.

Or, at least, I figured Mickey wasn’t.

Me, as crazy as it was, I was near there the instant I clapped eyes on Mickey months ago.

“Babe?”

He heard it.

“Just…something caught in my throat. Later, honey.”

“’Bye, Amy.”

We rang off. I went in, and within half an hour found my immunity with Mrs. McMurphy had expired when she said matter-of-factly to me, “Too bad you’re a Nazi. When you’re hung, who’s going to do the vacuuming?”

* * * * *

It was late-ish that evening, after dinner with my son, and Auden was on the couch on the landing, watching TV with his books around him.

I was not being creepy Mom sitting with him watching programs I had no interest in. I was down on the sectional with my laptop, giving him space and sending an update email to my parents (who were still incommunicado with me, something I was alternately thankful for and found concerning).

Olympia had not come. She was over at Polly’s.

I hit send then went back to the website that had the dining room table that was intriguing me. A small shop in New Hampshire. Everything was handmade from local woods. It was amazing. It was pricey. And shipping would be crazy.

But I was thinking I loved it.

Staring at it, I still had that feeling as my phone lying on the seat beside me rang.

I looked to it and saw it was Mickey calling.

I snatched it up, my eyes going to the landing to see nothing. The TV was on and Auden was lounging.

I took the call and put the phone to my ear, setting the laptop aside, saying, “Hey.”

“Hey back. Your boy still there?”

“Yes,” I told him.

“He spendin’ the night?” Mickey asked.

“No,” I replied.

“When he’s gone, text me. When my kids are down, I’ll text you and want you over here.”

Oh no. That didn’t sound good.

“Is everything all right?” I asked.

“Not even a little bit.”

He sounded unhappy.

“Okay, I’ll…we have a plan.”

“Right, and just sayin’, things are tightenin’ up with your kids, you think about when you can introduce them to me so I don’t lose you when you have them, and if I call, you don’t gotta talk to me like you barely know me.”

Yes, he was unhappy.

“We’ll discuss that,” I promised.

“Yeah, we will. Text,” he ordered.

“Okay.”

“Later,” he said then hung up.

I took the phone from my ear and looked back to the couch.

Auden hadn’t moved.

I set the phone aside, grabbed my laptop and sent an email to the New Hampshire furniture people. Then I set it aside and went up to do the dishes.