Soaring (Magdalene #2)(151)
It took a while and I was just sobering when Ash asked, “I’m pretty sure Mrs. McMurphy liked Rice Krispie treats because everyone likes Rice Krispie treats so we should celebrate her life with Rice Krispie treats. Who’s with me?”
“Totally!” Cillian cried. “With peanut butter.”
“No, darlin’,” Mickey put in and I shifted my face so my cheek was to his shoulder as he went on, directing this at his daughter, “Chocolate chips.”
“Chocolate chips and peanut butter,” Cillian bargained.
Mickey sent an easy grin to his boy. “Good compromise, son.”
“Cill, you’re on marshmallow duty,” Aisling ordered, pushing out of the couch.
Cillian didn’t push out of the couch. He vaulted over the back.
Mickey’s arm around me gave me a squeeze and I tipped my head to look up at him. I also noticed how he grabbed his girl’s hand as she walked by him and gave that a squeeze too. And through this, I didn’t miss her looking down at her dad and giving him a sweet smile.
When she was gone and the kids were in the kitchen making Rice Krispie treats, he turned his attention to me.
“Better?” he asked.
I loved him.
Totally loved him.
I mean, how could you not love a man who helped you end a day where the world lost a soul that had touched your heart, doing it guiding you to it giggling with his family and eating peanut butter, chocolate chip Rice Krispie treats?
“Better,” I whispered.
He dipped in and touched his mouth to mine.
Then he turned his eyes back to the TV.
I stayed tucked close, rested my cheek back to his shoulder and did the same.
* * * * *
It was late, hopefully Donovan family bedtime because I was tired, and I was coming back from the bathroom when I ran into Ash in the hallway.
“Hey, blossom, going to bed?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she answered.
I stopped and thought twice but decided to go for it, reaching a hand her way and brushing the back of hers with my fingertips before I said quietly, “Thank you for helping make me feel better tonight.”
She ducked her head, shrugged a shoulder and replied, “Not a problem, Amy.”
I didn’t like that but I didn’t push it. The night had been a good night. She’d been Ash of old (or the old I knew). Hanging with her family. Being quiet-ish but not gloomy. It wasn’t the time to push it.
“Okay, kid, I’ll let you go to bed. Thanks for a good dinner,” I said, giving her a small grin and moving past her.
“Amy?” she called.
I stopped and turned back, seeing her in the open door to her bedroom.
I was only two feet away.
“Yes, honey?” I asked.
“Mom bought that candle. The one on the coffee table.”
At her words, words delivered apropos of nothing but whatever was in Aisling’s head, I braced.
“Okay,” I said when she spoke no more.
“It was on what she called our first ‘big girl shopping trip,’” she told me. “I was seven. I picked the sand.”
“It’s a pretty candle, Ash,” I remarked when she stopped talking.
“She brought it home,” she carried on like I didn’t speak. “Dad teased her like he always teased her when she bought candles. Saying no wife of a fireman had candles. But he didn’t really care. What she liked, he’d like because he liked her.”
“Aisling,” I whispered.
She lifted her chin. “She took it. When she left. She took it.”
I nodded.
“I stole it,” she declared. “I stole it and brought it back.”
“Right,” I said gently.
Her chin trembled and she stared at me.
“Ash—”
“It’s my umbrella,” she whispered.
Then she disappeared behind her closed door.
Which was good since I had to put my hand to the wall to hold myself up, she’d cut me so deep, the blood was pouring out of me.
* * * * *
“Fuck me,” Mickey murmured, his head turned to the side.
He had his back against his headboard, knees cocked, gray flannel pajama bottoms on. I’d never seen him in pajama bottoms (or anything of the like). Then again, when Mickey and I spent the night together, it didn’t involve children in the house.
I was cross-legged beside him, wearing his tee.
I’d just told him Aisling’s candle story.
“Mickey—”
He looked to me. “She brought it back. I noticed. I didn’t say anything because she was weird about it and it was clear she didn’t want me to say anything.”
“That was probably a good call,” I replied.
“For her, that candle’s good times. Before her mom got lost in the bottle. When things were good between her mom and me. Good in the family.”
I nodded.
Mickey looked away and repeated, “Fuck me.”
I gave him a moment, doing it because he needed it but doing it hating to watch him bleed for his baby, before I advised gently, “You should leave it, honey.”
“Yeah,” he told his duvet.
“Mickey?”
He looked to me. “Yeah?”