A/N: Hey, it's me Shortstack! Thanks to me, the last A/N with the cookies
was erased.. sorry! So cookies to EVERYBODY! Reviewers, readers, people
who don't care in the least, everyone gets a cookie! Except me, of course,
since it's my fault. Anyway, sorry we haven't updated in awhile, but
school has once again claimed right to our existences. But enjoy this
chapter, it's where things begin to turn towards the story's end. Chao!
* * * *
After a few minutes, Kerry went upstairs to talk with Fishface again. I supposed they still had a lot to discuss, after she had broken the news of her engagement to him. He hadn't indicated that he knew, but I had overheard them talking and knew how apprehensive he must be feeling about letting her go so far away. It was a slightly similar situation to Patrick's, but there's a big difference between letting your little sister go across the river and letting her go across the country.
I'd been sitting in the main room on the side by myself, watching a few newsboys play poker, when Spot Conlon walked in. Glancing at him, I couldn't help but burst out laughing at the sight. He'd changed into a deep blue shirt that was nearly flat with creases, obviously it had been folded and left for awhile. Walking over to me, he attempted to pull some of the folds out with his hands, well aware that he looked ridiculous.
Seeing me nearly doubling over in my laughter, he smirked and said, "What? At least I'm the one in a dry shirt."
I was still laughing and barely managed to choke out the words, "How'd your shirt get like that?"
"I have to keep it under me mattress, you saw that there ain't any other place to put it in my room." As I tried to calm myself down to mere giggling, he continued. "Damn it, I'm probably gonna be sick now, thanks to you."
"Don't be a baby," I responded, rolling my eyes and smiling again. "It's bad for your reputation."
Spot gave me another one of his arrogant judging glances, and then a half- smile. "You're an odd girl, Anabeth." Then he glanced around the room, saying, "It's gonna be cold tonight. I'll have to go back to the lodging house, sleepin' in the back when it's freezin' won't help me much after today." He brought his gaze back to me, his eyes laughing. "Why would anybody in his right mind wanna stand out in the rain?" All that got him was another roll of my eyes.
"Well, mister Conlon," I said mockingly, "since you're going back to the lodging house, I suppose you're going to make me stay here and get sick. How very typical." I shook my head back and forth a few times disapprovingly.
"Serves you right for making me stay outside when it was pourin'." I knew he was joking, but it was still annoying. There was clearly no limit to this boy's arrogance.
But it would be aggravating to be huddled up on my mattress in the cold in my wet clothes later. I wished I could go back to Manhattan and stay with Patrick for the night, he wouldn't make me sleep in an empty cold room until morning. Then suddenly I thought of what it would be like when I left Brooklyn for good, when my brother finally found somewhere for the two of us to stay. I knew he'd be with me, that was just the way he was. Wholesome as oatmeal.
It would be strange to not wake up in Spot's clubhouse and see him and Kerry and Fishface and all the others every day. I'd gotten used to it, and it had never crossed my mind that eventually I would have to leave it behind. I wondered if maybe I could stay for a lot longer than my brother had planned, I was actually enjoying it, though it would have been nice to get away from the docks more often. But if I stayed here indefinitely, I could learn my way around the city and go off on my own. In my heart, I knew that I couldn't stay though. At some point, Spot Conlon would want me to leave so that I wouldn't be a concern anymore.
When I leave, I thought, will I ever see Kerry again? Of course you will, I told myself. You know he'll come see you all the time, as willingly as he gives up bread to give you flowers every morning. That still worried me, and I intended to address him about it later.
"Heya Shortstack," My brother had come to see me that day, for the second day in a row, and frankly, I was a little bit worried. Was there something wrong in Manhattan?
"Patrick! What's wrong?" I asked, genuinely worried.
He just laughed, "Nothin's WRONG, Anabeth, I just came to tell you, I've started a new job. At this factory in Manhattan. Just wanted to bring ya the news. We'll be gettin' a place to stay soon." He grinned.
I embraced him, and he lifted me off the ground in a hug and twirled me around aimlessly. "Patrick, put me down!" I yelled amidst laughing.
It wasn't long until our joyous reunion turned serious, "Say Patrick, whatever happened to our parents?" I asked him, my hand slipping to my neckline. To the necklace that had been my mother's.
Patrick glanced down at his boots, just as Kerry had when I asked about his family. "Wh-why are ya askin' about that now?"
It had come out of nowhere, but curiosity was nearly consuming me everytime I touched my necklace. "Patrick," I asked him a bit softer, "where are they?"
He still hadn't looked back up at me, and I could barely hear him, "Ya really wanna know?"
I nodded. "Why wouldn't I?"
Looking back up, he glanced around the room nervously, and then grabbed my wrist. "Come on, we can't talk about it here," he pulled me outside. We walked over to the group of crates that I had hidden behind so long ago to get a moment alone, and he motioned for me to sit down on one while he continued standing in front of me.
Gulping, he stared right into my eyes, and I saw a fear growing on his face. "Do you... do you remember anythin'? I mean, anythin' about before you were at the convent?"
For the millionth time in my life, I searched my memories as far back as they would take me, but the first thing I could remember was waking up in my bed in the convent when I was nearly six. For some reason everything before that was erased, and I couldn't find it no matter how hard I tried.
"No," I shook my head. "I remember six, but nothin' else."
"Good," now there was something else in his eyes that I had never seen before, sadness. "You shouldn't have to remember." He paused, his eyes darting around, looking everywhere but at me. Nothing else was said for several minutes, but I didn't push him. If I had known how obviously difficult this would be for him, I never would have asked.
"Shorts," he started, and then stopped again for a few seconds. "Just because somebody does somethin' wrong... it doesn't make them a bad person. Okay? I don't want ya to hate anyone after this, it wasn't anybody's fault, 'specially yours. Okay?" Patrick was talking to me just like I was six years old again, so I nodded to humor him. "Cause Ma, and even Pop, they loved us. But sometimes people just can't handle their problems, y'know? I mean, she got sick and he just... lost it. And I..." Were those tears forming in my brother's eyes? He had never cried, as far as I knew, he didn't know how. "I didn't want us to be there anymore, I didn't want you there. It was too much... to sit there and watch him push ya against the wall and yell at ya and then start punchin' and slappin'." Seeing Patrick start to cry made me feel tears beginning to blind me, and the vision of him in front of me became a blur. "You'd cry yourself to sleep and I knew I wouldn't be a good big brother if I let you stay there. And then that one day... right before she died, he came at me with the fireplace poker," he reached up and touched his side right above his hip, "I knew I had to get you outta there." I wiped the tears out of my eyes just in time to see his begin to escape. Jumping up and wrapping my arms around his waist, I felt like a small child. Crying into his shoulder, I listened as he tried to talk around the sobs coming out of his throat. "So one night while he was sleepin', I woke you up and we left. Just like that, all we had to do was walk away. Before we left I got her necklace for ya, you always loved it so much. I'd heard about the convent a couple of blocks away, and it was the only place I could think of to go. They were real nice to us, let us stay there for a few days. You slept through most of it." He stopped talking long enough to kiss my forehead. "Somebody told me that I was a good age to start sellin' newspapers, so I did. But they wouldn't let me bring you with me, to the lodgin' house in Manhattan. The only choice I had was to leave ya there, I didn't want to, but I had to." I pulled my head off of his arm and looked up at him, nodding to let him know that it was okay. "I missed ya like crazy, but I knew you were okay. He wasn't gonna hurt you anymore."
I spent almost an hour after Patrick left staring out at the river, just trying to make sense of everything he'd told me all at once. How could all of that have happened and I not remember it? It wasn't fair to Patrick. Why should he have had to spend his entire life remembering the image of his father coming at him with a fireplace poker when all I could remember were happy days at the convent? It wasn't fair at all.
As I felt a rough hand touch my shoulder, I jumped. Kerry jumped back as well.
"Sorry Shorts, I didn't mean to scare you!" He exclaimed, and seeing my tear-strained face, he paused, then as gently as he could with his rough ink-stained hands, he wiped one of my tears away, "What's wrong, Bonnie?"
"Nothin', Kerry," I said, rubbing the heel of my hand against my eye. He leaned over and kissed my forehead.
"Whatever it is, you know you can talk to me about it if you need to..." He trailed off and rested his forehead on mine, "Just know that, alright?"
I nodded and forced a smile, "I know, Kerry." I let my lips slip up and lightly kissed him on the lips, "Thanks."
He grinned, and alas, I was forced to actually grin back at him, "I need to go though, I'll see you later tonight?" he offered.
"Sure." I nodded, and he kissed me once more, his hand slipping down to nearly the bottom of my waist.
I stared, smiling as he walked off and turned around, grinning at me, though I knew he wondered what was wrong, it was nice to see him smile at me. It was then that that oh-so-annoying sandy-haired newsboy came swaggering past Kerry MacKilligan, and Kerry gave him the stare of death, yet kept on walking to wherever it was he had to go.
"Well, if it ain't Miss Meyers," Buttons mocked Kerry's accent poorly as his eyes rolled, "What you been cryin' for Miss Meyers?" He put his hand on my face and I slapped it away.
"Stop it. Now." I demanded.
"Or what?" He said, obviously, Buttons was even more 'fond of the pint' than Kerry MacKilligan and had spent another morning drinking.
"Or I'll tell your oh-so-fearless leader." I said, it wasn't a good threat at all, but at least it caused him to stagger back a little.
"I'll be seeing you," He said dizzily as he walked backward towards the clubhouse.
Everything went in a blur. Patrick. He had endured so much in his life, yet for some reason always put me ahead of himself. And Kerry. Kerry was soft- spoken, yet rough, he had this look in his eyes that made me want to hug him, this way that he smiled, that had forced me to smile at him so many times before, this way he would always turn around to take one last glance, give one last smile, before he went to sell the afternoon edition, this way of loving me that never ceased to amaze me. And Spot. I wasn't sure what I was feeling for Spot. For the longest time I had hated him. Then that one night, he kissed me under the streetlight, and I couldn't hate him anymore, yet I didn't love him either. For the moment, we were only friends. And I supposed that that was the way it should stay.
I hadn't moved yet. Still standing on the docks, reflecting on my day, I jumped a bit as Kerry snuck up on me again. He grinned.
"You haven't moved," He pointed out, laughing a bit.
"Why no, I haven't, have I?" I said, for the first time that day, laughing.
"How was your day?" He asked, a bit more serious this time.
"It was... eventful." I didn't mention what my brother had told me that morning, "Yours?"
"It was alright. Oh and Bonnie? I wanted to apologize... for the other night, y'know, when I was drunk. I don't... usually do that." He glanced at his boots.
I stammered for a moment, "That's alright Kerry," I managed to choke out awkwardly. He grinned.
"Thanks for being so understandin', Shorts." He kissed me on the forehead again, and glanced down at my blouse. I had unbuttoned it again to look at my necklace, yet I didn't bother to re-button it. His fingers trailed down to my neckline and then to my necklace.
"That's beautiful," He paused, "Just like you."
I looked up into his eyes, "It was my mother's." I don't suppose he noticed that his hand was slipping further down my neckline than he intended until his hand hit the first buttoned up button on my blouse, just above my chest. He blushed and took his hand back quickly.
"Sorry," He said, pushing some of his long brown hair behind his ear nervously.
It was dark by then, and it was starting to get cold, so I inched nearer to him, in hopes that his body would bring in more warmth, which it did when he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me into a passionate kiss.
I don't know exactly what we were thinking, but I started to push him backwards, and he didn't fight back, my hand found the doorknob that nobody else could see, and his kiss still lingering on my lips, we entered Spot Conlon's room.
I don't know if Kerry knew where we were or not, but as I slowly unbuttoned his shirt, I don't think he cared all that much. Gently, he unbuttoned mine as well and pulled me into another kiss, falling back onto the mattress against the wall.
His fingers trickled down my neckline again, yet they stopped on my collarbone and he smiled sheepishly, "I always loved that part of women."
"What?" I asked, feeling my ears turn red, "Their breasts?"
He blushed, though I'm not sure why, and shook his head, "This right here." He let his fingers land on the small space just above my breasts, and then, his bare chest pressing down on my stomach, he kissed it. I giggled, not exactly sure what he was doing, but he made his way with kisses back up to my mouth, and I found the piece of cloth that held his hair back in a pony tail and pulled it out into my hand, letting his hair fall onto his face.
Growing up in a convent, I was taught that perfection was not possible on Earth. Though that night, those hours I spent with Kerry MacKilligan, sweet love in the death cold of February, I realized that they were wrong. Those hours alone with him, those hours could not have been more perfect.
* * * *
After a few minutes, Kerry went upstairs to talk with Fishface again. I supposed they still had a lot to discuss, after she had broken the news of her engagement to him. He hadn't indicated that he knew, but I had overheard them talking and knew how apprehensive he must be feeling about letting her go so far away. It was a slightly similar situation to Patrick's, but there's a big difference between letting your little sister go across the river and letting her go across the country.
I'd been sitting in the main room on the side by myself, watching a few newsboys play poker, when Spot Conlon walked in. Glancing at him, I couldn't help but burst out laughing at the sight. He'd changed into a deep blue shirt that was nearly flat with creases, obviously it had been folded and left for awhile. Walking over to me, he attempted to pull some of the folds out with his hands, well aware that he looked ridiculous.
Seeing me nearly doubling over in my laughter, he smirked and said, "What? At least I'm the one in a dry shirt."
I was still laughing and barely managed to choke out the words, "How'd your shirt get like that?"
"I have to keep it under me mattress, you saw that there ain't any other place to put it in my room." As I tried to calm myself down to mere giggling, he continued. "Damn it, I'm probably gonna be sick now, thanks to you."
"Don't be a baby," I responded, rolling my eyes and smiling again. "It's bad for your reputation."
Spot gave me another one of his arrogant judging glances, and then a half- smile. "You're an odd girl, Anabeth." Then he glanced around the room, saying, "It's gonna be cold tonight. I'll have to go back to the lodging house, sleepin' in the back when it's freezin' won't help me much after today." He brought his gaze back to me, his eyes laughing. "Why would anybody in his right mind wanna stand out in the rain?" All that got him was another roll of my eyes.
"Well, mister Conlon," I said mockingly, "since you're going back to the lodging house, I suppose you're going to make me stay here and get sick. How very typical." I shook my head back and forth a few times disapprovingly.
"Serves you right for making me stay outside when it was pourin'." I knew he was joking, but it was still annoying. There was clearly no limit to this boy's arrogance.
But it would be aggravating to be huddled up on my mattress in the cold in my wet clothes later. I wished I could go back to Manhattan and stay with Patrick for the night, he wouldn't make me sleep in an empty cold room until morning. Then suddenly I thought of what it would be like when I left Brooklyn for good, when my brother finally found somewhere for the two of us to stay. I knew he'd be with me, that was just the way he was. Wholesome as oatmeal.
It would be strange to not wake up in Spot's clubhouse and see him and Kerry and Fishface and all the others every day. I'd gotten used to it, and it had never crossed my mind that eventually I would have to leave it behind. I wondered if maybe I could stay for a lot longer than my brother had planned, I was actually enjoying it, though it would have been nice to get away from the docks more often. But if I stayed here indefinitely, I could learn my way around the city and go off on my own. In my heart, I knew that I couldn't stay though. At some point, Spot Conlon would want me to leave so that I wouldn't be a concern anymore.
When I leave, I thought, will I ever see Kerry again? Of course you will, I told myself. You know he'll come see you all the time, as willingly as he gives up bread to give you flowers every morning. That still worried me, and I intended to address him about it later.
"Heya Shortstack," My brother had come to see me that day, for the second day in a row, and frankly, I was a little bit worried. Was there something wrong in Manhattan?
"Patrick! What's wrong?" I asked, genuinely worried.
He just laughed, "Nothin's WRONG, Anabeth, I just came to tell you, I've started a new job. At this factory in Manhattan. Just wanted to bring ya the news. We'll be gettin' a place to stay soon." He grinned.
I embraced him, and he lifted me off the ground in a hug and twirled me around aimlessly. "Patrick, put me down!" I yelled amidst laughing.
It wasn't long until our joyous reunion turned serious, "Say Patrick, whatever happened to our parents?" I asked him, my hand slipping to my neckline. To the necklace that had been my mother's.
Patrick glanced down at his boots, just as Kerry had when I asked about his family. "Wh-why are ya askin' about that now?"
It had come out of nowhere, but curiosity was nearly consuming me everytime I touched my necklace. "Patrick," I asked him a bit softer, "where are they?"
He still hadn't looked back up at me, and I could barely hear him, "Ya really wanna know?"
I nodded. "Why wouldn't I?"
Looking back up, he glanced around the room nervously, and then grabbed my wrist. "Come on, we can't talk about it here," he pulled me outside. We walked over to the group of crates that I had hidden behind so long ago to get a moment alone, and he motioned for me to sit down on one while he continued standing in front of me.
Gulping, he stared right into my eyes, and I saw a fear growing on his face. "Do you... do you remember anythin'? I mean, anythin' about before you were at the convent?"
For the millionth time in my life, I searched my memories as far back as they would take me, but the first thing I could remember was waking up in my bed in the convent when I was nearly six. For some reason everything before that was erased, and I couldn't find it no matter how hard I tried.
"No," I shook my head. "I remember six, but nothin' else."
"Good," now there was something else in his eyes that I had never seen before, sadness. "You shouldn't have to remember." He paused, his eyes darting around, looking everywhere but at me. Nothing else was said for several minutes, but I didn't push him. If I had known how obviously difficult this would be for him, I never would have asked.
"Shorts," he started, and then stopped again for a few seconds. "Just because somebody does somethin' wrong... it doesn't make them a bad person. Okay? I don't want ya to hate anyone after this, it wasn't anybody's fault, 'specially yours. Okay?" Patrick was talking to me just like I was six years old again, so I nodded to humor him. "Cause Ma, and even Pop, they loved us. But sometimes people just can't handle their problems, y'know? I mean, she got sick and he just... lost it. And I..." Were those tears forming in my brother's eyes? He had never cried, as far as I knew, he didn't know how. "I didn't want us to be there anymore, I didn't want you there. It was too much... to sit there and watch him push ya against the wall and yell at ya and then start punchin' and slappin'." Seeing Patrick start to cry made me feel tears beginning to blind me, and the vision of him in front of me became a blur. "You'd cry yourself to sleep and I knew I wouldn't be a good big brother if I let you stay there. And then that one day... right before she died, he came at me with the fireplace poker," he reached up and touched his side right above his hip, "I knew I had to get you outta there." I wiped the tears out of my eyes just in time to see his begin to escape. Jumping up and wrapping my arms around his waist, I felt like a small child. Crying into his shoulder, I listened as he tried to talk around the sobs coming out of his throat. "So one night while he was sleepin', I woke you up and we left. Just like that, all we had to do was walk away. Before we left I got her necklace for ya, you always loved it so much. I'd heard about the convent a couple of blocks away, and it was the only place I could think of to go. They were real nice to us, let us stay there for a few days. You slept through most of it." He stopped talking long enough to kiss my forehead. "Somebody told me that I was a good age to start sellin' newspapers, so I did. But they wouldn't let me bring you with me, to the lodgin' house in Manhattan. The only choice I had was to leave ya there, I didn't want to, but I had to." I pulled my head off of his arm and looked up at him, nodding to let him know that it was okay. "I missed ya like crazy, but I knew you were okay. He wasn't gonna hurt you anymore."
I spent almost an hour after Patrick left staring out at the river, just trying to make sense of everything he'd told me all at once. How could all of that have happened and I not remember it? It wasn't fair to Patrick. Why should he have had to spend his entire life remembering the image of his father coming at him with a fireplace poker when all I could remember were happy days at the convent? It wasn't fair at all.
As I felt a rough hand touch my shoulder, I jumped. Kerry jumped back as well.
"Sorry Shorts, I didn't mean to scare you!" He exclaimed, and seeing my tear-strained face, he paused, then as gently as he could with his rough ink-stained hands, he wiped one of my tears away, "What's wrong, Bonnie?"
"Nothin', Kerry," I said, rubbing the heel of my hand against my eye. He leaned over and kissed my forehead.
"Whatever it is, you know you can talk to me about it if you need to..." He trailed off and rested his forehead on mine, "Just know that, alright?"
I nodded and forced a smile, "I know, Kerry." I let my lips slip up and lightly kissed him on the lips, "Thanks."
He grinned, and alas, I was forced to actually grin back at him, "I need to go though, I'll see you later tonight?" he offered.
"Sure." I nodded, and he kissed me once more, his hand slipping down to nearly the bottom of my waist.
I stared, smiling as he walked off and turned around, grinning at me, though I knew he wondered what was wrong, it was nice to see him smile at me. It was then that that oh-so-annoying sandy-haired newsboy came swaggering past Kerry MacKilligan, and Kerry gave him the stare of death, yet kept on walking to wherever it was he had to go.
"Well, if it ain't Miss Meyers," Buttons mocked Kerry's accent poorly as his eyes rolled, "What you been cryin' for Miss Meyers?" He put his hand on my face and I slapped it away.
"Stop it. Now." I demanded.
"Or what?" He said, obviously, Buttons was even more 'fond of the pint' than Kerry MacKilligan and had spent another morning drinking.
"Or I'll tell your oh-so-fearless leader." I said, it wasn't a good threat at all, but at least it caused him to stagger back a little.
"I'll be seeing you," He said dizzily as he walked backward towards the clubhouse.
Everything went in a blur. Patrick. He had endured so much in his life, yet for some reason always put me ahead of himself. And Kerry. Kerry was soft- spoken, yet rough, he had this look in his eyes that made me want to hug him, this way that he smiled, that had forced me to smile at him so many times before, this way he would always turn around to take one last glance, give one last smile, before he went to sell the afternoon edition, this way of loving me that never ceased to amaze me. And Spot. I wasn't sure what I was feeling for Spot. For the longest time I had hated him. Then that one night, he kissed me under the streetlight, and I couldn't hate him anymore, yet I didn't love him either. For the moment, we were only friends. And I supposed that that was the way it should stay.
I hadn't moved yet. Still standing on the docks, reflecting on my day, I jumped a bit as Kerry snuck up on me again. He grinned.
"You haven't moved," He pointed out, laughing a bit.
"Why no, I haven't, have I?" I said, for the first time that day, laughing.
"How was your day?" He asked, a bit more serious this time.
"It was... eventful." I didn't mention what my brother had told me that morning, "Yours?"
"It was alright. Oh and Bonnie? I wanted to apologize... for the other night, y'know, when I was drunk. I don't... usually do that." He glanced at his boots.
I stammered for a moment, "That's alright Kerry," I managed to choke out awkwardly. He grinned.
"Thanks for being so understandin', Shorts." He kissed me on the forehead again, and glanced down at my blouse. I had unbuttoned it again to look at my necklace, yet I didn't bother to re-button it. His fingers trailed down to my neckline and then to my necklace.
"That's beautiful," He paused, "Just like you."
I looked up into his eyes, "It was my mother's." I don't suppose he noticed that his hand was slipping further down my neckline than he intended until his hand hit the first buttoned up button on my blouse, just above my chest. He blushed and took his hand back quickly.
"Sorry," He said, pushing some of his long brown hair behind his ear nervously.
It was dark by then, and it was starting to get cold, so I inched nearer to him, in hopes that his body would bring in more warmth, which it did when he wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me into a passionate kiss.
I don't know exactly what we were thinking, but I started to push him backwards, and he didn't fight back, my hand found the doorknob that nobody else could see, and his kiss still lingering on my lips, we entered Spot Conlon's room.
I don't know if Kerry knew where we were or not, but as I slowly unbuttoned his shirt, I don't think he cared all that much. Gently, he unbuttoned mine as well and pulled me into another kiss, falling back onto the mattress against the wall.
His fingers trickled down my neckline again, yet they stopped on my collarbone and he smiled sheepishly, "I always loved that part of women."
"What?" I asked, feeling my ears turn red, "Their breasts?"
He blushed, though I'm not sure why, and shook his head, "This right here." He let his fingers land on the small space just above my breasts, and then, his bare chest pressing down on my stomach, he kissed it. I giggled, not exactly sure what he was doing, but he made his way with kisses back up to my mouth, and I found the piece of cloth that held his hair back in a pony tail and pulled it out into my hand, letting his hair fall onto his face.
Growing up in a convent, I was taught that perfection was not possible on Earth. Though that night, those hours I spent with Kerry MacKilligan, sweet love in the death cold of February, I realized that they were wrong. Those hours alone with him, those hours could not have been more perfect.